Primer to the Dark Arts
by Icarus
Summary: Harry/SS, HP/RW. Harry is told he is to be given private (and secret) tutoring in the dark arts, to protect him next time he meets Voldemort. His teacher? Professor Snape. COMPLETE, Now being Beta'd. Updated with the new chapter: Midnight!
1. Default Chapter

Primer to the Dark Arts Icarus ©2002  
  
"Strumpet! Persimmon! Fluke!" Professor Dumbledore said triumphantly, and the feast began.  
  
Harry's plate appeared, heaped with turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, roast beef, corn on the cob; pumpkin juice appeared on his left, while the wonderful aroma of fresh baked rolls wafted down the table. He made a strategic grab as the basket floated by a second time. Harry was just eyeing a blueberry tart, wondering if he dare eat dessert first, when Professor McGonagall touched his shoulder. He was only thinking about it! But it was concerning another matter that she interrupted the feast.  
  
"Mr. Potter, Professor Dumbledore needs to see you in his chambers," she said. "You can finish your dinner first, of course."  
  
Ron gazed after her as she returned to the teacher's table.  
  
"What was that about? You don't think you're in trouble already, do you?" he whispered, as much as one could whisper with a mouth full.  
  
Harry shrugged. He couldn't think of anything he'd done yet.  
  
But curiosity nagged at Harry throughout the feast. Not that it effected his appetite. His plate was clean even before the last trace of the feast magically disappeared. He never ate this well at the Dursley's, and always made up for lost time whenever he had the chance. Mrs. Weasley chortled a year ago that he had a hollow leg. Well if he did, there was a lot more of it now. He had finally caught up to Ron's height. But he was still as thin as ever, and might always be, judging from photos of his father. Though the Dursley's certainly didn't help.  
  
An hour later, while the other Gryffindors trouped up the tower to learn the new password, Harry stood nervously with Prof. McGonagall at the gargoyle which was the secret the entrance to Dumbledore's study.  
  
"Butterscotch!" she said. "Now, go on up without me, Mr. Potter. Apparently, this is concerning a private matter." It made Harry even more curious than ever.  
  
Classical music played as Harvey stepped into Dumbledore's outer chamber. Dumbledore's quarters were at once familiar, and new, as things had been rearranged and new wonders added since his last visit. Prof. Dumbledore sat in a wingback chair facing a roaring fire. The wings of the chair waved gently in time with the music. On a small table by the chair was an orchestra of tiny stringed instruments. They had arranged themselves in neat rows, and were playing by themselves as Dumbledore conducted with his wand. They came to the final crescendo at end of the piece. Professor Dumbledore bowed to them and clapped.  
  
"Uh.. Professor Dumbledore?" Harry interrupted tentatively.  
  
"Harry, come in, come in!" He gestured to the instruments and explained, "Rehearsal."  
  
The instruments started packing themselves up, chatting amongst themselves, with a squeak of chairs, various musical riffs and laughter. "I realize we've just had our feast, but would you care for some popping soda? I have lemon, and oh yes -- cherry, here it is. Never known a young man to ever stop being hungry - or thirsty. I'll have one myself. Always nice to have one after rehearsal. It went well this time, don't you think?"  
  
Harry nodded absently as he watched the instruments hop to the armchair and each bow to Dumbledore as they left. He gratefully accepted the soda, and the staccato popping sound soon filled the air like small fireworks. Professor Dumbledore smiled.  
  
"Nothing like a good popping soda. Well, what can I do for you, Harry?"  
  
"You asked to see me.?" Harry said.  
  
"Oh, yes, yes of course," Dumbledore frowned and sighed, "that."  
  
"It's a serious matter, Harry..." Dumbledore looked thoughtfully at him.  
  
"It seems you have encountered Voldemort in one form or another every year at Hogwart's. We are forced to assume that the sun will rise in the east, and the boomslang will shed its skin in spring. There are those who feel you need extra protection this year - "  
  
Harry opened his mouth to protest but Dumbledore put up his hand -  
  
"- Now, now, Harry, it's already settled. The arguments have been argued, and there's no use in starting another one. There has been plenty of that already. You will be having extra classes. Private tutoring, to prepare you in case Lord Voldemort puts in another appearance. These classes, I fear, I am not qualified to teach you myself, or I would, gladly. But we do have one who is highly qualified in such matters."  
  
"One would hope you will prove better at the Dark Arts than you do at Potions, Mr. Potter."  
  
Harry nearly jumped out of his skin at the all-too-familiar voice behind him. Professor Snape emerged from the shadows by the door.  
  
"I am uncertain which is the greater waste of time: teaching you, or having to save you, yet again," Professor Snape continued, looking at Harry with disdain.  
  
He must have been there the whole time. Or at least Harry thought so. He fervently hoped Snape couldn't walk through walls. Then what Snape had said finally sunk in. The Dark Arts.? Harry felt a faint chill. Though if he were honest with himself, he had to admit he was a little curious. Professor Dumbledore was speaking again.  
  
"You will have to keep these classes 'under your hat' as they say. You will be Professor Snape's only pupil in this. Two evenings a week. You may have to miss a few Quidditch practices."  
  
Extra classes? Alone? With Snape? Missing Quidditch practice? This was getting worse and worse, Harry thought. Snape turned to Dumbledore, ignoring Harry completely.  
  
"Are you certain there might not be others who could benefit from my knowledge? Competent students, perhaps? If there are any, other than say, Granger?" Snape made a noise of disgust.  
  
"Yes, Miss Granger is quite competent, isn't she? But I'm sure Harry will do fine." Professor Dumbledore stood and patted Harry's shoulder. Harry was still in shock at the bad news. It couldn't possibly be worse. "No doubt many could benefit from your assistance, Severus. I do. Nearly every day. But is not my policy to teach Dark Magic here at Hogwart's as you know. I have only been convinced that this is a singular and very unusual case. I admit - nothing we have tried thus far has worked. Until now we have mostly been saved by Harry's good luck. We can't count on that again."  
  
Dumbledore turned to Harry. "You do understand why you must keep this a secret, no matter how hard that might prove?" Harry nodded. Malfoy would give his right eyeteeth to learn Dark Magic. "Good. No one, not even your friends, must know."  
  
"Good luck to you, Harry." Dumbledore's eyes sparkled. "And to you, Severus."  
  
Snape stalked out with a bare nod to Dumbledore. One of the violins narrowly missed getting stepped on, skittering out of the way as Snape crossed the threshold. Harry knew how it felt.  
  
But was it Harry's imagination, or did Dumbledore seem worried when he looked at Snape?  
  
Finis.  
  
Next, 'Lessons in the Dark.' 


	2. Lessons in the Dark

Lessons in the Dark

by Icarus

The moment Harry dreaded finally came, towards the end of Potions class a few weeks into the school year.

Harry had almost managed to forget the looming class on Dark Magic, immersed as he was in the flurry of Quidditch practice, new classes and the excitement of seeing all his friends again. He had certainly hoped Snape had, as one week, then another passed without a word about it. 

"Mr. Potter," Snape said darkly. "Please see me after class today."

Harry's heart sank to his toes. Ron and Hermione looked at each other, aghast, and some of the Slytherins snickered and elbowed each other to look in Harry's direction. Snape smiled at them.

Ron whispered, "Harry… Snape's really got in for you this year! You didn't do a thing!"

"Sh," Hermione hissed at Ron under her breath, "don't give him any excuse to take points, too. Do be careful, Harry." 

She looked worriedly at Snape. Professor Snape had always been unfair, had always favored the Slytherins, but he had never given punishments for no reason before, however thin his excuses had been in the past.

"It's okay," Harry said. "I think I know what it is."

"What is it?" Ron asked. Hermione looked puzzled.

"It's… it's fine," was all Harry could say. The two looked at each other with surprise.

But of course it wasn't fine, not with Snape as a teacher. He was spared more questions, because at that moment class was dismissed. Gryffindors and Slytherins started packing up their books and wands, flooded past and edged between Harry and his friends. Snape crooked a finger at him, and Harry shrugged at them apologetically. At the door, Hermione hovered uncertainly, and Ron gave him a cringing smile. Then the door to the dungeon separated them and fell slowly shut.

"Follow me," Snape turned in a swirl of black robes, without looking back to check if Harry actually did follow. "Bring only the wand. Nothing else you own is up to this."

With a backward glance at his books, Harry trailed Snape. Snape wove a circuitous route through the castle dungeons. Dust lay thick on the floor of the last passage, and they came to an ancient wooden door with large, old-fashioned hinges. It looked big enough to have been built for Hagrid. With a Spell and password, it opened onto the cavern where the first years arrived every year from across the lake. Or big enough for a boat, Harry realised. Snape gestured to one of Hagrid's boats.

"Get in."

Snape stepped in, and Harry clambered into the bow. Snape untied the moorings and murmured something unintelligible. The boat shot forward as if powered by an outboard motor. Caught off guard, Harry was thrown back into his seat. Hagrid was never so abrupt.

"Try not to drown yourself on the first day," Snape sneered, and he steered their boat through the cavern and out onto open water.

Harry looked over his shoulder, and up. He had forgotten how enormous the towers and battlements of Hogwarts looked from the water far below. It occurred to Harry that he hadn't been this way really, since his first glimpse of Wizarding School seven years before. It was impressive. 

Ahead, the sun hung low over the dark Forbidden Forest shrouded in twilight. Snape urged the boat faster with a word.

Spray spit over the bow, showering Harry where he clung to it as the boat skipped forward. Snape casually, lazily, turned the boat to avoid the lunging arm of a sea monster, and then steered a course for the furthest bank, heading directly for the Forbidden Forest. Harry held onto the bow a little tighter.

As they moored at the dock, Snape barely paused long enough for Harry to scramble out of the rocking boat. 

"Quickly - child - we have barely enough time left before nightfall!" Snape said irritably. 

Harry muttered under his breath, "I'm not a child…" but otherwise held his peace.

At the edge of the Forbidden Forest Harry instinctively reached for his wand. A twig snapped to the left, and something scampered away. Otherwise, it took Harry a moment to realise what was so strange - there wasn't a sound. Not so much as a cricket chirp. Snape didn't even pause at this unnatural silence, but drew his inky black cloak about his shoulders and virtually melted into the twilight, striding briskly along the narrow trail. Harry scrambled to keep up before he lost sight of Snape entirely.

They followed this trail for a while, then turned onto one less well-tended, hardly more than a game trail. Snape muttered Spells under his breath as they hurried, and turned left than right, avoiding more promising trails for the most rutted. On his own, Harry would have been quickly lost. 

Once as they passed an intersecting branch, sparks broke over Harry's head. He stopped, startled. 

Snape turned and hissed at him. 'Keep close!' 

There was a low rumble, like a growl and Harry felt the ground shudder. He leapt out of the way just as wooden spike-like teeth snapped out of the forest floor, nicking his heels.

Harry followed Snape very closely after that. If Snape noticed, he gave no indication.

They finally came to a dim but otherwise rather ordinary clearing. In the middle was a boulder about the height of a table; on it was a bud vase. Beyond that was a low rock wall. 

Snape turned dramatically, while Harry paused warily at the edge of the clearing, wondering what all-important role a bud vase played in Dark Magic. 

"We have come here," said Snape portentously, "because the Dark Arts cannot be practiced in on the grounds of Hogwarts proper; even less so in the castle itself. There are many protections against it -- I'm certain even you can appreciate the reasons for this. I suggest you not come here unless you are with me, nor bring any of your little friends, as no doubt you are tempted to do. The penalty is more than detention. I have arranged some rather… unpleasant… surprises for those who might think to interrupt, or spy, on our class." 

Snape looked pleased and self-satisfied, and Harry had no doubt that if Snape had thought of them, these 'surprises' were very nasty indeed. Snape would enjoy that.

"Now … " Snape suddenly had Harry's full attention. "Let's take off your training wheels. Dark Magic is advanced from the very outset; there is no beginning or children's level. I will show you what _real_ Magic is."

As Snape muttered a low sonorous incantation, he seemed to grow in menace and power. His eyes rolled back and blazed. The simple Potions master Harry knew was gentle and harmless compared to the man before Harry now. Professor Snape aimed a spell at the rock wall beyond, swinging his wand with an unfamiliar hurling motion.

The rock wall cracked, broke apart, and crumbled into a pile of dust. Snape viewed his destruction calmly.

"Age, Potter," he said, with a small look of triumph at Harry's stunned face, "just age. A thousand years in a moment to be exact. The Dark Arts have twice the power of the… simple… magic you have been learning all these years. Dark Magic is so… unconstrained. You have not lived as a wizard until you have experienced it. The likes of Dumbledore - they do not understand. But you shall."

"Of course, so much power takes years to learn. But you will begin with this." And he handed Harry the bud vase. Harry turned it over in his hands, mystified. It seemed perfectly ordinary. Then Snape plucked a handful of fresh, pretty pink rosebuds from his robe and dropped them into Harry's hands. 

"You will age these till they are blackened twigs." 

Harry blinked stupidly at Snape, hoping for an explanation of some kind.

"Well? Imbecile. Put one in the vase. I don't want you to miss and wreck our only table," Snape gestured to the rock.

It was hard to say whether the next hour was more frustrating for Harry, or for Professor Snape. The first problem was proper wand position and gesture, which was entirely different for Dark Magic. Snape corrected Harry again and again, grumbling and muttering things such as "should have learned this in the first year" and "short-sighted school masters." He was trembling with irritation by the end, though fortunately most of it did not seem to be directed at Harry. 

Finally, once Harry had the gesture, the wand position, and the incantation down (this last was not too different from what Harry knew), Harry aimed the spell over and over again at the pink rose bud. 

Nothing happened.

It didn't seem to matter whether he missed and hit the table or not. The spell just… fizzled. The rose bud didn't even open, let alone turn black like it was supposed to. And Harry had a hard time wanting to kill it.

"You are holding back, Potter," Snape said in bored frustration.

"But… but what if it's too much?" Harry wondered aloud. He quickly regretted asking any questions in this class.

"It's _supposed_ to be too much!" Snape was out of what little patience he owned. "Tender-hearted Fool! The spell is meant to do _damage_! That is the point." 

Snape gathered his composure, grumbling, "… why couldn't I have Malfoy, he would excel at this… even that insufferable Granger…" Snape took a deep breath.

"Look here, Potter." Snape drew Harry uncomfortably close with a vise-like grip, breathing down his neck. "Through some cruel prank, a twisted joke of fate, I am stuck with you. You, of all persons, as my sole student. The sole inheritor of all my knowledge. I do not know whether to laugh or go mad." Harry though privately he was doing quite well at the latter. His arm was starting to go numb. "Somehow, I must manage to sieve all my experience and knowledge of the Dark Arts into that teeny, tiny, little brain of yours. Now I may be gentle and accepting in Potions class - 

- at this Harry goggled - 

"- but I will not be so tolerant here! You will learn, Potter. If I must kill both _you_ and _I_ in order to do so. Bear in mind the order of that, by-the-way.

"Class dismissed," Snape said wearily, and released Harry, "I can tolerate no more of this today." 

Harry followed Snape, staring miserably at his back as they followed the path through the Forest back to the boats. Snape's disappointment was palpable in every line. If there was one thing Harry hated, it was letting someone down. Even if that someone was Snape. Harry wished he could be back at Hogwarts faster. He fervently looked forward to Arithmancy… Divinations… Charms… any normal wizarding class, with his whole heart. 

Over the next few weeks, Harry's second and third classes in Dark Magic were no better. His fourth was, if possible, worse. All that improved was Snape's sarcasm, which increased in its accuracy and sting with Harry's every mistake, as there seemed more and more ground for Snape's opinion.

"I would call you an abysmal failure, and give up, Potter, if it were acceptable under the circumstances." 

"Do it again!"

"Do try at least to have an effect. Of one kind or another. Even Mr. Longbottom, despite his capacity for destruction, usually manages to accomplish _something_."

It became clear that Snape wasn't just being unfair this time. Harry slowly came to the dawning conclusion that he was genuinely bad at the Dark Arts. Nothing he did went right. Or rather - wrong. Things in Dark Magic were supposed to go wrong. Harry began to feel sorry - or more sorry than he had - for Neville Longbottom, who was bad at everything. Except Herbology. Now Harry knew what it felt like. He began to happily visualize Snape dressed in Neville's grandmother's clothes, stuffed vulture hat and all. 

What made the class even harder was the fact Harry could never practice - of course, since Dark Magic wasn't allowed on Hogwarts' grounds. And Harry couldn't even come to the clearing where it was taught without getting snared by one of Snape's booby traps. He couldn't ask for help from his friends. He was sworn to secrecy by Professor Dumbledore. And Harry wasn't even allowed to study his notes where others could see. Worst of all, his Quidditch was falling off, because of all the practices he was forced to miss for Snape's class. 

The excuse Snape had for his sporadic absences a couple nights a week was that Harry had detentions. A lot of detentions. The Slytherins were overjoyed. Meanwhile the Gryffindors became as quiet as mice in Snape's class, shocked into submission. There were angry mutters and plans for revenge in the Gryffindor common room, many of which were stopped by Professor McGonagall. 

As Snape's first test drew near, Harry grew desperate. He started carrying his Dark Arts notes with him everywhere, tucked in his book bag, studying at every opportunity. No one would ever look for them there, he was sure.

It was in Potions class that disaster fell. 

Harry's bag was on the floor, slightly open where he had taken out his potions kit. Harry was stirring a Calming potion, trying to get it to turn a proper fuchsia - Ron's was looking a strange green and they couldn't figure out what they'd done to it - when Snape suddenly stopped at Harry's cauldron. At that moment, Harry remembered where his notes were. He shut his eyes, praying hard that Snape wouldn't look down. Don't look down - please, don't look down. Snape stooped, and ever so slowly, seized the scroll of notes.

"What's this?" Snape hissed at the back of Harry's neck. "Potter. If you cannot be trusted to keep these from wandering around, then you must do your homework from memory! No doubt, our hero Harry Potter can manage to recall a few simple spells?"

Simple spells? It was the hardest class Harry had ever had! Harry watched as his notes, his only lifeline in Snape's impossible Dark Arts class, disappeared into the folds of Snape's robes. He followed Snape with his eyes as he stalked back to his desk, and closed the precious scroll of notes into one of his drawers. There was a whir of several different locking mechanisms and spells, and the drawer clicked shut.

There was nothing for it. Regardless of the consequences, Harry had to get help. He had to get those notes back.

Finis. Next 'The Book of Eros.'


	3. The Book of Eros

The Book of Eros by Icarus ©2002  
  
The dungeon ceilings arched up into darkness. Stone shelves lined the walls; jars of various sizes and shapes, some tall, some squat, rested upon them. The largest ones, big enough to hold small children, were set on the stone floor. What little light there was came from the phosphorescent mold that lined them, giving the chamber a sickly green glow. Strange, unnamable things floated in the containers. One of the largest suddenly wobbled, as if someone had knocked into it. A hand inside squirmed like a startled fish. A disembodied voice cursed, and something steadied the jar.  
  
"Sh!" another voice said; and then: "Alohamora!"  
  
A drawer in Professor Snape's desk pulled open, seemingly of its own accord.  
  
"Harry, I wish you would tell me what we're looking for." Anyone who knew the Gryffindors would immediately recognize the voice of Ron Weasley. The next voice then would come as no surprise.  
  
"It's. it's a scroll," said Harry Potter's voice. "My notes. I can't tell you any more than that."  
  
"Okay. But you've been really strange lately - I never see you!" It was an odd comment coming from someone who was currently invisible. "You're even missing Quidditch practices."  
  
"Sh! I've had detentions." Harry's voice said.  
  
"Without me?!" Ron's voice complained.  
  
Inside the drawer they found various items confiscated by Professor Snape. There were rubber wands, fake mushrooms (that would explode if dropped in a potion); bouncing balls that turned into mice and quickly tried to escape. There were several decks of cards playing a hand of poker in the drawer. They cursed and grumbled at the interruption of their game: "move along, lads, yer too young for this, heh, heh." The other cards laughed. A cheater's deck flashed a players' hand to the one across it, which quickly folded.  
  
Harry Potter's invisible hands fumbled through the contents, finally finding a scroll buried in the back. Another set of hands opened a lower drawer, finding only a book.  
  
"Woohoo," breathed Ron's voice, "someone's a right fool for bringing this to class - look at these pictures. they're all naked!"  
  
"Put it back, Ron," said Harry's voice. Suddenly he yelped, "it's got me!"  
  
The leg of the desk had come to life and wrapped around Harry's leg. There it froze to wood again. Ron backed away, coming out from under the Invisibility Cloak.  
  
"Oh sh**. hey, look at this."  
  
Ron picked up a set of keys that were in the lower drawer where he found the book. They fit the lock in the upper drawer. The desk leg, recognizing the proper key, uncurled and let Harry go.  
  
"Harry. That was close. Let's get out of here before anything else decides to attack," Ron whispered, glancing uneasily at the jars. He picked up the scroll Harry dropped and disappeared back under the Invisibility Cloak.  
  
Upstairs in the empty Gryffindor common room, Harry noticed Ron was still carrying the book he found in Snape's drawer. It had the name 'The Book of Eros" stamped in florid letters across the cover, and Ron was eagerly pawing through it already.  
  
"I don't believe you took that," Harry said.  
  
"C'mon, let's have a look! Snape won't know who took it," Ron said. "This spell needs hair of a virgin - "  
  
"That's an easy one - we've got you," Harry joked, and Ron cuffed him.  
  
The next day, after another look at those pictures, they decided to skip Divinations class, figuring there was no difference between lying about being sick, and lying about seeing something in their Numerology charts. The homework would be easy enough. It was the same as Astrology, only much less complicated.  
  
Ron sprawled out on Harry's bed with the book propped up on the pillow, while Harry drew the bed curtains. The people in the pictures writhed on the pages before them, various spells were scrabbled on the margins. Others were written between the lines if you tipped the book a certain way.  
  
"Wow. This is a very dirty book," said Ron, "what a find!"  
  
Harry had to agree.  
  
They gaped at the photos of different people doing all kinds of things to each other, with each other, in all different positions. Ron stopped at a picture of two witches together, his eyes popping. When Harry finally got him to turn the page, he smirked as he noticed Ron bent the page to mark that one.  
  
"Look at these spells. I never thought of using magic for stuff like this. Here's one - 'when you need an extra hand.' Hold on, let's try it." Ron said.  
  
Harry wondered if this was such a good idea, but Ron worked the spell, and a hand appeared in midair, apparently waiting for instructions. It took several minutes for Ron to look up the counterspell and banish it.  
  
Harry was interested. "How 'bout this one? 'Erotic massage, with a twist.' "  
  
He tried it. Ron said it was quite nice, until he felt a sharp smack on the rear.  
  
"Who would want that?" Ron asked, a little annoyed, as Harry banished the spell. Harry shrugged.  
  
"Here's another weird one." Before Harry could stop him, he said "Sado- Immobilius!"  
  
Leather straps appeared suddenly, wrapped around Harry's ankles and wrists, and tied him spread-eagle to the bed.  
  
"Get it off me! Now! Get it off!" Harry fumed at Ron.  
  
"Hold on, hold on. keep your shirt on," Ron chuckled as he worked the counterspell.  
  
Freed, Harry struggled up, and looked for something equally embarrassing he could set on Ron.  
  
"Here's tickling!" said Ron, "I should have used that a minute ago."  
  
Harry ignored him, he had found what he was looking for.  
  
"Strip-Ease," he explained, and flicked his wand, saying the incantation.  
  
"Hey!" Ron complained. The spell started to rip his shirt off. But Harry already had his finger on the counterspell. He was just kidding. The rips vanished, and Ron gave Harry a dirty look.  
  
"It's nearly lunchtime," Harry observed, a little surprised. It hadn't seemed like that long."I think we missed study hall."  
  
"I guess time flies." Ron shrugged, " - got one more for you."  
  
"No- !" said Harry, thinking of the leather straps.  
  
"Don't worry - this one you use on yourself. Watch!" Ron said, "Phallus Erectus!"  
  
And with that Ron had the biggest hard-on Harry had ever seen, sticking straight out.  
  
"Need anything hung up?" he asked, turning sideways.  
  
Laughing, Harry scrambled up and tried it on himself. He couldn't do the hanger trick, his always went up, rather than out. Then they heard people coming through the portrait downstairs. Lunchtime. Quickly Ron looked up the counterspell.  
  
"Uh." Ron started paging madly through the book. "I can't find it."  
  
"Give me that!" But Harry couldn't find it either. They stuffed the book under Harry's pillow and rolled over onto their stomachs as the other Gryffindors clomped up the steps.  
  
So Harry and Ron carried jackets with them to lunch, strategically placed as they sat at the table. They wolfed down their food, barely tasting it, and launched themselves from the table as early as possible. "Quidditch practice," Harry explained on their way out.  
  
Back in their room, Harry reread the spell.  
  
"It says it 'wears off naturally.' I guess we just have to wait. Good thing we have Potions and Care of Magical Creatures this afternoon. We'll be standing up all day."  
  
"Yeah," Ron rolled his eyes, "except I'm sure Snape has X-ray vision."  
  
  
  
Yet even by the end of dinner their condition was unimproved. By this time Ron was very upset. Outside the portrait opening to the Gryffindor common room he complained.  
  
"Harry, this can't go on much longer. I have to pee, and. well. I can't! I'm going to explode!"  
  
Harry agreed the situation was dire, trying not to laugh.  
  
"What can't go on, dear?" The fat lady in the portrait asked sleepily.  
  
"Mellifluous," Harry said and portrait swung open, "- nothing." He decided there'd better not be any portraits around when Ron and he took another peek at that book.  
  
That night, once Seamus and the others were asleep, Harry and Ron tiptoed down the tower stairs with the book. Harry lead the way to the attic above the owlry. The room was dusty, and empty, with a wood floor and no portraits to be found. Or any decoration for that matter.  
  
"Nice place," Ron said.  
  
"Lumos!" A ball of light appeared above Harry's wand. He cracked open the Book of Eros and located the spell, reading between the lines this time. " 'It wears off naturally." Harry turned the page, ". after use."  
  
"Use?!" Ron squeaked, "You don't think - ?"  
  
Harry stared.  
  
"Maybe." Ron suggested, making a pumping gesture, ". you know?"  
  
Harry shook his head, tipping the book to the left. "It gives three options. vaginal."  
  
Ron brightened, "Hey, maybe we can ask Hermione to help out. She's a pal."  
  
Harry privately thought Ron would like that.  
  
"Sure, she'll help. With a Severing Charm," Harry pointed out. Ron cringed.  
  
"Well, it's definitely the spell at work - that thought should have shriveled me up, right here and now. What are we going to do?" Ron sounded desperate.  
  
"Well, it says here 'vaginal, anal...' - " Harry continued. Ron sat on his hands and backed away from Harry.  
  
"Don't even think about it!"  
  
" - 'or oral.' " Harry finished the sentence, glaring at Ron. "That's not so bad. Do you think? I mean, not as bad."  
  
"You're mad! No. no way!" Ron answered emphatically.  
  
"All right then," Harry snapped the book shut and crossed his arms. Ron was not much help. "We'll just sit here until You think of a better idea."  
  
The room was silent for several minutes. Harry could practically hear Ron's brains frying, as he struggled to think of another solution. For a bit it even seemed Ron was willing to wait until a small miracle stumbled on them in the attic.  
  
Then, Harry heard Ron let out a heavy sigh.  
  
"Okay. I can't think of a thing, 'cept I need to pee. Badly. Soo. right." He turned and wagged a finger at Harry, " - but don't you ever tell a living, breathing soul! Or a dead one either," he added as an afterthought.  
  
"Me - ?" Harry couldn't imagine ever wanting to admit this.  
  
" - and Especially - Don't Ever Tell Hermione!" said Ron. To that Harry whole-heartedly agreed.  
  
Harry suggested maybe they could use a memory erasing charm. Then it would be like it never happened.  
  
"But, er, if you can't erase your own memory, then for one of us to use the charm, they'll have to remember what it was they were supposed to forget."  
  
Ron nodded sagely. "Right. Of course. Harry - what are you talking about?"  
  
"You can't enchant yourself, right?"  
  
"We did with this," Ron pointed out.  
  
"That's different. I think. somehow," Harry pleaded, "please don't confuse me or I'm gonna forget."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"The person who casts the spell has to know what they're erasing, right?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
"So. the last person left has already had their memory wiped: he won't know what he's supposed to erase! It'll only work on one of us."  
  
A light of understanding went on in Ron's eyes.  
  
"We just have to decide who will remember." Harry thought about it a moment. He knew little enough about his past as it was. "I think I will. I don't like the idea of forgetting any more than I have to."  
  
"Well, I have lots of things I'd like to forget. Like the time Fred stuck two blowcrackers up my nose and."  
  
"I think we'd better just do this, for right now anyway. It's getting kinda late." Harry started pulling off his robe while Ron looked away, red-faced.  
  
"Oh. Yeah. Probably I'd better not make swiss cheese of my memory. Not with Fred and George around."  
  
Harry yanked his underwear down to his knees, pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, and looked at himself. He decided the spell must be some kind of engorgement charm, because he'd never been so huge. It was practically prodding into his navel. Ron was slow and fussing about taking his clothes off. Harry thought he was being stupid - they'd never been shy around each other before. For a moment it seemed Ron had forgotten how to work a zipper and got his robe stuck on his head. He finally pulled it off, his red hair a disheveled mess, ears pink. He sat in front of Harry with his arms close together like he was afraid to show his bare chest. As if Harry hadn't seen him a thousand times. He looked as if he'd rather be anywhere else in the world but there.  
  
Ron's face hovered over Harry's lap, then he paused.  
  
"Could you. lie down. or something? It feels strange having you stare at me like that."  
  
By some unspoken agreement they understood they weren't going to touch each other any more than was necessary. Harry complied and made a comfy pillow out of his robe. For what seemed a long stretch, Ron still did nothing. It was getting cold in the attic.  
  
"Well," Harry said impatiently, "hurry on. The sooner we get this over . oh."  
  
Harry didn't finish his sentence. Ron's mouth was like hot silk, the warm sensation enveloping him. Ron's breath tickled his hair. Harry thought he was going to melt into the floorboards. Then Ron moved, hitting all the sensitive spots in one pass. Harry leaned up. You couldn't help but look when your friend was doing something like that to you. He saw red hair bobbing up and down on him. Then Harry jumped at a sharp pain as Ron's teeth grazed him.  
  
"Hey! Watch the teeth!"  
  
"Shorry," Ron glanced up, his voice slurred around his mouthful.  
  
Harry glared at him suspiciously, then began to relax again. He fell back to the floor, and closed his eyes, his mouth relaxed in a silent moan. After a minute or so, Ron stopped, far too early. Though anything short of forever would have been too soon to Harry's mind at that point. Harry lay there a moment, breathing heavily, trying to recover himself. Ron didn't notice as he wiped his mouth, and sat up.  
  
"Well, that should do the trick," he said. "It'll fade any minute now. Let's take care of me and then we can get out of here."  
  
Harry's head was slicked and wet, and felt a little cold now in the open air. But it showed no signs of 'fading' as Ron put it.  
  
Harry struggled up reluctantly. Ron sat waiting for Harry with casual, matter-of-fact patience. He'd certainly overcome his earlier shyness. Harry looked up at him a trifle warily, guessing from Ron's careless indifference he had no clue what was in store for him either. Ron noticed Harry's hesitation and offered:  
  
"Do you want me to lie down?"  
  
"No," Harry shook his head, "doesn't matter."  
  
He started to take his glasses off, but then thought the better of it. He noticed in this position Ron's erection was stretched out straight across the floor. "Oh, well, I guess you had better I suppose."  
  
So Ron grabbed Harry's 'pillow' and lay completely flat, his erection sticking straight up in the air. The both looked at it, and laughed.  
  
Harry didn't mind Ron leaning up on his elbows to watch, in fact, he was rather looking forward to the look on Ron's face when he felt it. Harry didn't take his eyes off Ron for a second as he lowered his mouth to Ron's lap. He was surprised at how little of it he could fit in his mouth, but that didn't seem to matter, because Ron's eyes went very round and dark, and his jaw slowly fell. He let out a big sigh when he finally started to breathe again. His chest rose and fell heavily as Harry stroked up and down the tip. Ron let his head loll back on his shoulders with a moan.  
  
That was fun. Harry was glad he'd gone first; he would not have missed that for the world. But in the next moment Harry had a little trouble with Ron. Ron was trembling, responsive, and he had started thrusting a little into Harry's mouth; Harry gagged on him once or twice. It was too graphic for Harry's sensibilities, so he backed off. He was a little worried Ron would come in his mouth.  
  
"Okay, well, er, that should do it," Harry said.  
  
"Do what?" Ron sat up, sounding frustrated and annoyed at the sudden halt. "It hasn't done a thing."  
  
And he was right. Their conditions were unchanged. Harry didn't understand. He adjusted his glasses and reached for the book.  
  
Ron groaned and fell back to the floor, complaining, "put the down the book."  
  
Harry ignored him, and curled up with the Book of Eros in his lap.  
  
"It says the effects wear off naturally." he puzzled.  
  
"Isn't it obvious? Naturally, Harry, naturally!" Ron made a frustrated noise. "Let nature take its course. You had me so close, too."  
  
Harry glanced up without moving. He had noticed.  
  
"But it doesn't say."  
  
"Of course not. Don't you get it? Everything in this book is in the margins, between the lines like. Gosh, Harry, you're a great wizard and all. and you're pretty smart. but, in this. well. you're just plain dumb." Ron grabbed the book away from Harry.  
  
"Do you think this wizard's gonna spell it out for any kid who picks up his book? I bet there's even weirder stuff in here, if only we knew the right words to say," Ron looked at the Book of Eros disappointedly.  
  
They leafed through a few more pages. Ron came back to his favorite picture of two witches waving at him from the page while they went through their eye-popping gymnastics. Then Harry reread the passage. He had to admit, Ron was probably right.  
  
"Ron, how'd you get to know so much about this stuff?" Harry asked, somewhat suspicious.  
  
He shrugged. "There are seven kids in my family."  
  
Ah. Good point.  
  
Then Harry leaned back in anticipation. "Well. I guess it's my turn again."  
  
"What?!" Ron protested, "that's not fair! I was this close. And I still am. I bet if you did me now it wouldn't take but five minutes!"  
  
But in the end Ron grudgingly relented, and two amber eyes looked at Harry from between his knees, this time knowing exactly what he was about to do to his friend. Harry couldn't wait. He settled back on the comfortable couch they'd made for themselves. They'd stretched Ron's longer cloak underneath them, and bunched both their robes up as a pillow. Ron guided Harry to lay flat, and straddled his thighs. His erection bumped up against Harry, and then slid between his legs. Ron held it there a moment, as if daring Harry to say anything about it. Harry knew right well what Ron was about, but he was feeling generous. After all, he got to go first.  
  
Then Ron reached up, leaned over and gently plucked Harry's glasses off his face. Strangely, that was the most intimate, most erotic thing Ron had done that night. It left Harry breathless, blinking and dazed. Ron must've felt it too, because he lingered a long moment, still holding Harry's glasses like he'd forgotten about them. Then he chewed his lip, swallowed, and turned back to business, flushed to his ears. He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'Hermione.', but he laid Harry's glasses delicately on the book, as if they were made of spun sugar. He was surprisingly gentle, extra careful not to use his teeth this time.  
  
It left Harry with butterflies in his stomach, and he couldn't decide if he like this time more or less than the first. He was keenly aware of the hard rod between his legs. Gingerly, awkwardly, Harry reached down and touched the blur of Ron's feathery red hair. Ron paused a moment and looked up, stirring those beautiful tingly butterflies into motion again in Harry's stomach. He decided he liked it more. Harry fell back to the pillow, feeling strange and light-headed. He had the sudden feeling this was all a very bad idea, but was glad there was nothing he could do about it now. It was taking a long time, probably because he was distracted, and Harry had a thought. He began to roll Ron's hard rod between his legs, and Ron's breathing picked up; he pressed himself into Harry eagerly. Soon he was gasping a little too loudly. Harry grinned as he shushed him. Ron clambered up onto Harry's chest - they were no longer careful not to touch anything more than the necessary places - and asked in a stage whisper:  
  
"But you haven't come yet."  
  
"So?" Harry grinned, tongue between his teeth. Ron lit up like it was Christmas. He pulled himself the rest of the way onto Harry's chest. Harry used his hands a moment, then took Ron in his mouth. He exulted - almost laughed - at Ron's swift and total loss of self-control. His face was a rictus of sheer joy, and he started moving faster. Too late, Harry dodged as Ron yelled, getting a mouthful; the rest spilled across his face and neck. Ron's shout had been loud enough to wake the dead, Peeves, the Bloody Baron and every other ghost in the castle.  
  
They sat there silent a moment, listening, their hearts pounding; but no sound came.  
  
"Guess I needed my glasses after all - windshields," Harry joked finally. He wiped his face with what he hoped was Ron's robe.  
  
"You don't have any wipers though," Ron said, making a wiping gesture with his fingers. His voice was still a little husky.  
  
Then he breathed at last, "whoa." and Harry chuckled.  
  
They lay on the floor quietly. Ron asked, in a surprisingly soft voice:  
  
"Harry. do you think.? Well. nevermind," Ron changed the subject. Harry wondered what he had been about to say. "I. just - what are you learning in those classes with Snape, anyhow?" Ron hadn't watched Harry as he asked, but was running his fingertips from Harry's chest to his thigh and back, curiosity in every line of this body. It tickled in a pleasant sort of way.  
  
"I'm not supposed to tell," Harry answered absently. Ron's warm fingers wandered to more sensitive areas, exploring. Then Ron stopped.  
  
"Yeah." Ron sighed heavily and turned away.  
  
"Dumbledore swore me to secrecy, Ron." Harry explained. "It's to help me next time I meet Voldemort. -- I mean -- He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."  
  
"Not even Hermione gets private classes in magic," Ron's voice was muffled in his arm.  
  
"Oh - wonderful. I get an extra hour with Snape. He's worse than in Potions! At least there he can spread it around, pick on somebody else for a minute or two."  
  
Ron sat up. "I saw those notes of yours -- "  
  
"What -- ?"  
  
"- half the stuff in them, you have to get in Knockturn Alley. I know. My Dad's done raids for that sort of thing."  
  
"And you Want to learn Dark Magic?" Ron's eyes goggled. Harry belatedly realized with what he'd revealed. He tried to explain. "Look, Ron, I have to learn it. Dumbledore says it's the only way I can survive Volde - He-Who- Must-Not-Be-Named - next time."  
  
"Dumbledore has you learning Dark Magic?" Ron asked, incredulous. "Him? I don't believe it! He won't teach it at Hogwart's, he's done. Harry, he's done all sorts of things to weed it out. He even tried to stop them from teaching it at Durmstrang, and some of the best Aurors come from there. It - doesn't sound like him."  
  
"I know. It's weird." They were silent a moment.  
  
"That's neat though," Ron said.  
  
"Yeah," said Harry glumly, thinking about the test he was going to fail next week. Usually Snape was happy when he failed, but this class was proving to be an exception for one reason or another.  
  
"Can you - can you teach me some?" Ron asked a little nervously.  
  
"I think I'd better not," Harry said, "I'm bombing out. Completely. I haven't done a thing right the whole class. I'd probably get us both killed."  
  
"Oh." Ron was impressed. He got up and started pulling on his underwear. Harry made no move to get dressed. "Well, no surprise Snape knows Dark Magic."  
  
"Ron - where are going?" Harry asked a bit crossly.  
  
Ron looked down at Harry's lap, still larger than life. He pulled his underwear back down.  
  
"Sorry, Harry. I completely forgot!"  
  
Twenty minutes later, two rumpled young men sorted out whose robe was whose, and found their respective shoes. There was a brief scurry when they couldn't find Harry's glasses, but a simple locator charm aimed Ron's wand right at them - once they stopped panicking and thought of it. They had been knocked off the book. Harry's hair stood up at more angles than usual, while Ron's was static-y and clung to everything. He had trouble brushing it out of his eyes. Ron wiped gingerly at a spot on his collar. Harry lingered a bit, tired, but wishing the night was longer. He wondered when he'd ever have anything like this again. Just as they were about to leave, Harry stopped:  
  
"The memory charm - !"  
  
"Uh. yeah, it's okay. It - it sounds like too much trouble anyway, right?" Ron said evasively, trying to flip the hair out of his face. He peered out the attic door, checking to see if the coast was clear. Harry was willing to bet Ron hadn't forgotten at all, but didn't mention it. He stood behind Ron, very close, looking over his shoulder. He noticed Ron didn't move away.  
  
"Right," Harry said.  
  
Harry awkwardly fumbled as he hefted the Book of Eros; the cover fell open to the first page, which they'd never bothered to read. Harry stared at it dumbfounded.  
  
"Ron, look at this!" he grabbed Ron's robe.  
  
On the bottom left-hand corner, in neat letters, was written the name: 'Severus Snape.' It gave an address of a flat that was not at Hogwart's.  
  
It was Snape's book.  
  
"Now that I can't picture!" gaped Ron, "or I can - but I think I'm going to go blind imagining it!"  
  
Then Ron winced as he thought about it. "I guess we'd better put his book back, before he notices it's gone." Ron did not relish the idea of another trip back to Snape's attack desk.  
  
"Oh, I think there's no hurry." Harry smiled slowly. "Do you really think Snape is going to complain he lost a book like this?"  
  
"Hey - yeah. Brilliant!"  
  
  
  
Finis. Next: 'How to Avoid Your Best Friend.' 


	4. How to Avoid Your Best Friend

How to Avoid Your Best Friend by Icarus ©2002  
  
The fat lady in the portrait was fast asleep when they returned to the Gryffindor tower. It took them several tries and Harry hammering on the picture frame to wake her, and she was none too pleased.  
  
"Mmmph - it's five o'clock in the morning. if you haven't slept by now, why even bother? Can't you sleep somewhere else?" she complained, pillowing her head on her hands and turning away. But she did let them in. She was always a softie.  
  
Harry woke the next morning feeling mellow, relaxed, and grateful it was Saturday. It was nice to have a peaceful morning to sleep in. He felt a sort of warm glow from the night before and wanted to enjoy it.  
  
A toad whizzed by directly over his head, and then fluttered up for a perfect two-point landing on the bedpost. He heard a squeak, "Hey, you give him back!"  
  
It was Neville Longbottom. Harry assumed someone had decided to practice transformation spells on Neville's toad, Trevor. For a toad who had just learned how to fly, Trevor was pretty good at it. As Seamus approached cautiously, Trevor swooped over Ron's bed, disappearing into the draperies.  
  
"I think we have to catch him first. Maybe we shouldn't have started with the wings."  
  
"Close the window! Close the window!" someone else shouted.  
  
Ron was snoring loudly, curled up in the bed next to Harry's. He was oblivious to the chaos around him.  
  
"Hey, Harry, you're up. Wow, you two can sleep through anything! You shoulda' seen the last thing we turned Trevor into - " said Seamus.  
  
" - I've got him! I've got him!"  
  
The hapless Trevor squirmed and fluttered, but was returned to normal. He lunged and took a jump. He landed on Harry's covers looking somewhat disappointed.  
  
"Sorry, Trevor. I guess toads aren't meant to fly," said Harry, as he handed him back to Neville. Neville shot a dark look at Seamus and huddled protectively over Trevor as he carried his toad back to his box.  
  
  
  
Halfway through lunch, Ron wandered in, yawning and rubbing his eyes. He looked generally grumpy and disgruntled. He sat down next to Seamus, staring at the food that suddenly appeared on his plate like it had insulted him.  
  
"Flying toads. can't you let a guy sleep!" Ron complained bitterly, stabbing into some chips with his fork.  
  
Later that afternoon Harry suggested to Ron that they have another look at the Book. But Ron was still in a foul mood and brushed Harry off irritably. So they played a game of Three-Dimensional Pool instead. The balls, no more than three inches across each, were suspended in space in a kind of Sphere with a permanent Hovering Charm. The goal was to knock all of your pieces into the center of the Sphere, while preventing your opponent from doing the same. Ron was still in a bad mood, but everything seemed fine until he missed an easy shot. Suddenly he swore, threw down his cue and stormed off.  
  
"Ron - it's just a game!" Harry called after him, but Ron slammed the door as he left.  
  
  
  
The following day was no better. Harry learned from Neville that Ron was going to Hogsmead with Fred and George, even though it wasn't an official Hogsmead weekend. Harry caught up with Ron and asked him about it.  
  
"And I'm not invited?" Harry asked Ron, stunned.  
  
"Uh, yeah, sure. I just - just didn't know you wanted to come." Ron said lamely.  
  
"You thought I wouldn't want to go to Hogsmead?" Harry was incredulous.  
  
But Ron hardly spoke to Harry the entire trip, and kept Fred or George between them whenever possible. He was very nervous and dropped things in Zonko's Joke Shop - not a safe place to drop anything. Harry suspected he knew what was wrong, and wished they had used the Memory Charm after all. Ron acted like Harry was going to jump all over him - which frankly, Harry would like to do and had thought about a lot since the incident with the Book - but that didn't mean he was going to! Finally Harry pointed out:  
  
"You know what, Ron? You were there, too. And we could always have used the Memory Charm."  
  
"You - remember something I can't? No. No way! I couldn't give you that kind of advantage!" Ron said.  
  
"What do you mean, Advantage?" Harry asked, feeling suddenly strange.  
  
"You know." Ron tuned beet red and looked away.  
  
Harry turned and left, shocked as much as he was angry. He wasn't at all sure what Ron meant, but he had a feeling he should be insulted. After all, Ron was his best friend. Harry refused to speak with Ron after that, and Ron continued to avoid him. Hermione sat between the two of them at breakfast Monday morning, as they sat eating in stone cold silence.  
  
"What is wrong with you two?" she asked in frustration.  
  
But of course they couldn't explain, now could they?  
  
Ron started spending all of his time with Hermione after that. He went with her to the library. He helped carry her enormous collection of books between classes, even dropping them off when they didn't have class together. He hovered over Hermione in the common room.  
  
"What 'cha reading?" Ron asked.  
  
"Homework." Hermione said absently.  
  
"Oh.. yeah?" Ron asked (as if this were the most surprising thing in the world, Harry thought contemptuously), " - really? So. what's it about?"  
  
"Our assignment for Charms tomorrow. Oh, don't tell me you haven't done it yet? We've had all week! I'm just polishing up the rough edges. I just can't remember if it was the Witch of Windsor or Malmsbury that invented simultaneous Hovering Charms."  
  
Ron looked surprised. Apparently he'd forgotten it. Come to think of it, Harry had, too.  
  
"Oh." Then his eyes brightened. "Can. can you help me with it?"  
  
"It's on page one hundred and forty-seven," Hermione answered shortly. Ron sat looking at her. "Well? Get your book. You have to do your own reading, Ron."  
  
Harry smirked.  
  
But to Harry's surprise, moments later Ron hunkered down behind the enormous Charms Workbook, though he spent more time watching Hermione over the edge of it than reading. Harry sighed and went upstairs. Thanks to Hermione's reminder he had both Charms and Dark Arts homework to do. Hardly anyone was around, and it was a perfect opportunity to do his Dark Arts essay. but Harry couldn't bring himself to do it. He paged through the Book of Eros instead. But it just wasn't as much fun without Ron.  
  
Later that evening, Ron came stomping up the stairs.  
  
"What's wrong?" Harry asked.  
  
"Nothing." said Ron. And he lay down on his bed, turning his back to Harry. He wouldn't say anything more.  
  
  
  
Outside Charms the next day, Hermione seemed very annoyed with Ron.  
  
".well I'm sorry, but you weren't studying! You were just pestering me with questions. You could have looked all those up! Now stop bugging me, Ron Weasley!" she flounced off to her next class, leaving Ron gaping in the hall.  
  
Suddenly, Harry felt much better. And he felt a little guilty about it, too.  
  
  
  
Later that night, Harry had the Book of Eros out. His drapes were drawn, and the blanket tented over his head for an extra measure of security. He heard Ron's steps.  
  
"Harry?" Ron asked, "what're you doing?"  
  
"Nothing," Harry mumbled. He felt a little awkward and strangely vulnerable, because Ron could probably tell from his voice it wasn't 'nothing', and knew exactly what he looked like doing exactly this kind of 'nothing.' Harry hoped he would go away.  
  
There was a long pause.  
  
"Harry?" he asked tentatively, " - you still got that book?"  
  
"Uh-huh," Harry said, trying to keep the huskiness out of his voice, without much success.  
  
"Can I borrow it?"  
  
Harry passed the book through the curtains.  
  
"Going to try it with Hermione?" he couldn't help asking, slightly sarcastic.  
  
"No." Ron said, firmly. His voice was sullen.  
  
So they had something of a truce, passing the book back and forth between the curtains. Harry lay awake listening to Ron's breathing, imagining that Ron did the same. Harry thought for a while. It hurt to say it, but he had to, because they were his best friends.  
  
"Ron."  
  
"Huh - yeah?" Ron asked.  
  
"Maybe you should. I dunno. back off a little with her? Let her breathe?"  
  
There was a long thoughtful silence. Then Ron said:  
  
"Thanks."  
  
  
  
The two of them skipped the next official Hogsmead trip, the Book of Eros being much more interesting at their age than Zonko's Joke Shop or a Shrieking Shack that hadn't shrieked in a long time. Rosmearta's butterbeer was still excellent, but their eyes tended to wander to what the adults were drinking with more interest.  
  
When the coast was clear, Ron and Harry drew the curtains on their respective beds.  
  
"Hey, Harry - what spell are you using?"  
  
"Nothing right now," Harry admitted with a little guilt, not wanting to say he'd just been listening to Ron's breathing. That had been plenty.  
  
"You should try this one."  
  
"Oh?" Harry perked up. Was this an invitation?  
  
"Yeah. C'mere."  
  
Harry slid off his bed with some trepidation, pulling up his pants just in case. The last time Ron had sounded like that. well, it hadn't turned out too well. He poked his head through the bed curtains. He was disappointed to find Ron fully dressed. Oh. Harry clambered up onto Ron's bed, checking to make sure the curtains were closed behind them. He read the spell Ron was pointing to and laughed - was that really possible?  
  
"You want to find out?"  
  
After several minutes of different spells.  
  
"Hey - Harry." Harry glanced up at Ron. His eyes were bright, almost feverish. His face was a little red.  
  
"You want to. put this away?" Ron suggested, turning a little brighter red. Harry's eyebrows rose, but he just nodded quickly, and waited. Ron glanced around as if listening for any visitors, though everyone was gone. Then he put his hand to his belt and started unbuckling it as Harry watched, revealing a familiar sight. Ron's smile was a little toothy and bright.  
  
"I think I remember how - " Harry joked, teasing him. Ron huffed a sigh and rolled his eyes in exasperation. Then just before he bent to Ron's lap, Harry asked, "are you gonna forget to do me again?"  
  
"No! - c'mon, Harry." Ron pleaded in anxious frustration.  
  
After a while the room slowly became pitch dark, and it was stuffy under the blankets, though they ignored it. Ron was as good as his word, and Harry decided to reward him for that. After an hour or so, Harry asked into the shadows in front of him, where he could vaguely make out a warm shape that was Ron:  
  
"So what did you mean, 'Advantage'? Harry asked.  
  
"I dunno know, Harry - I guess it made sense, at the time," Ron breathed.  
  
  
  
Harry woke, realizing that he had fallen asleep. The bed curtains were all closed, and glowed faintly from a morning sun that touched them on the eastern side. He glanced over and found he was still in Ron's bed. A hand rested lightly across his chest, and Ron's face burrowed deep into the pillow beside him.  
  
Ron's auburn lashes brushed his cheek, longer than Harry remembered. Though Ron blinked a lot while he talked, so it was hard to be sure. Harry imagined those lashes fluttering open, and Harry having to return to his own bed, and he wasn't ready to do that yet. Harry stilled his breathing, was as quiet as he could be. Ron's freckles were delicate on creamy pale skin. He had freckles on his arms, too, and only a little hair on his chest, that also a dark red. Harry examined this, and a dozen other details he'd never noticed before. Harry decided he liked the shape of Ron's mouth, which was a small pink bow, and the way he curled up on his side sleeping very softly, without stirring.  
  
Harry would wake Ron a little later, before anyone got back from Hogsmead and found them there. But for now, Harry put his head back on the pillow and shut his eyes, content.  
  
Finis. Next: 'Love is Madness.' 


	5. Love is Madness

Love is Madness by Icarus  
  
In the Forbidden Forest, Harry ducked as Snape casually stunned an overgrown grappling vine that made a grab for Harry. One of his booby traps probably. Then they turned the corner, and Harry very nearly groaned aloud as he saw the familiar cauldron already set up in the clearing, a small green fire playing eerily at its base. Wonderful. A combination of his two worst subjects: Potions and Dark Arts.  
  
Snape on the other hand was positively chipper. For him.  
  
"Today I have decided to allow you something. a little easier." Snape said. Harry rolled his eyes. Of course it was easier for Snape - he loved both these subjects. "But do not expect me to show such mercy and compassion in every class."  
  
As they started the brew, Snape didn't explain what they were making. Not that Harry cared. He followed Snape's terse instructions as he chopped, stewed, boiled and stirred whatever this Dark Magic potion was.  
  
It actually wasn't so bad. No more than any other Potions class. And they were outside, in a pleasant breeze. It would be great if all Potions classes were outside, Harry decided, especially the really smelly ones, like the Bolyvorg Potion (which could either add or remove warts, depending on what you wanted), or worse yet, the Smoking Hellsbane, which smelled like the bathroom after Mr. Dursley left. As an added bonus, Snape actually seemed to be in a good mood. He limited himself to a few caustic comments, small and sharp as paper cuts, but stayed intently focused on the actual content of the class. Well, why wouldn't he be in a good mood? For once in a Dark Arts class, Harry hadn't done anything unusually wrong.  
  
Even if this had been made in the dungeon, though, this potion would not have been bad at all. It was a pleasant sort of unidentifiable shimmery color, and it smelled. well. rather good for a change. Fruity. Snape's hand flicked out and dropped in the final ingredient. Harry saw something red flutter into the cauldron. The potion changed to a sunset reddish color, and the boiling abruptly stopped.  
  
"Smells like you could almost eat this," Harry commented, as he gave it a final stir.  
  
"You can. Have some," Snape said drily.  
  
Just before Harry put the stirring spoon to his mouth to taste, he caught a glimpse of Snape: there was a glint of humor in his eyes. Harry stopped, the spoon still poised. Anything Snape thought was funny was bound to be poisonous.  
  
"Go on." Snape said smoothly.  
  
"But - "  
  
"Drink it!" Snape commanded, and took a menacing step closer. Harry touched his tongue to the spoon. It was sweet. His tongue didn't swell up, no warts appeared. He looked down. he hadn't changed color. He wasn't choking from poison, nor did he feel sick. Maybe he'd gotten away scott-free with such a small taste.  
  
Then Harry felt a vague sort of disorientation, an unfocused heady euphoria, sweeping through him. The skies seemed bluer, the grass greener. It was such a lovely day. Birdsong lifted his heart.  
  
"Some kind of happiness serum?" Harry ventured a guess.  
  
Snape looked frighteningly pleased. "A love potion."  
  
Harry gaped. But he hadn't thrown himself at Snape in panting physical need, and, well, Snape could hardly want that anyhow.  
  
"Love Potion. what does that have to do with Dark Magic?" Harry asked.  
  
Snape snorted disdainfully. "What you are thinking of is a simple aphrodisiac. That's all you are familiar with I'm sure. a little hair of goat, some musk, eye of newt. A squib can make it. But a genuine love potion - " Snape scooped and held up a vial of Harry's potion to the light approvingly. Harry would have been a lot happier about that approval if he hadn't just eaten some. Harry noticed now that Snape was wearing gloves. " - that causes head over heels, romantic addiction, the truly tortured love, is far more rare.  
  
"Of course it is Dark Magic. It is a form of madness. And quite dangerous -  
  
Harry began to feel worried, and a little queasy.  
  
" - too much of even one ingredient, and one can lose one's sense of reason, of reality. permanently."  
  
Harry swallowed. Snape looked at Harry, up and down appraisingly, painfully drawing out the silence.  
  
"Well," Snape said, "Congratulations, Potter. You are still sane it seems. I believe we should mark this day on our calendars: this is the first Dark Arts' class you've ever passed."  
  
But Harry noticed there was still a glint of dark humor in Snape's eyes. It occurred to Harry. could Snape have somehow found out that he and Ron took his Book of Eros?"  
  
  
  
Harry felt dizzy all night, and into the next morning as well. At breakfast he sat and stared the lovely owls, swooshing about, until he shook his head and realized his scrambled eggs were getting cold.  
  
"Are you learning anything in your class?" Ron asked him.  
  
"Yeah. Not to drink anything Snape gives me, not even if he tells me to." Harry said.  
  
"Thought you already knew that," Ron snorted. 


	6. What Your Enemy Should Never Know

What Your Enemy Should Never Know by Icarus  
  
The spinning had finally stopped. Fortunately, Harry managed to never actually say any of the awful florid poetry that had come to his mind at odd moments, comparing red hair with the rays of the sun and whatnot. The effects of the love potion appeared to have finally worn off.  
  
His next Dark Arts class turned out to be a ruthlessly hard pop essay quiz, so it was held at Hogwarts, in the dungeon where they usually had Potions. Harry racked his brain, but could only remember half of what he'd been taught the last few weeks, in various unrelated bits and pieces.  
  
There was a persistent drip, drip, drip sound one never noticed when the dungeon was full of Slytherins and Gryffindors, and you weren't trying to concentrate on a test. Harry's quill scratched over the parchment. Snape sat at his desk, scowling at the stack of scrolls he was grading and making liberal use of a blood red ink.  
  
Harry suddenly realized that he was almost out of time, and wrapped up the last half of his essay on methods of various forms of death and destruction, in the final ten minutes.  
  
"Time." Snape said.  
  
Sweating a little, Harry handed it in. Snape's glance said that he didn't expect much, and boy, he was right about that. But then Snape leaned back in his chair, and pursed his lips, reflectively.  
  
"There is an antidote, of course," Snape offered, as if Harry would know exactly what he meant.  
  
"An antidote.?"  
  
"To the potion."  
  
"Oh. Uh. Right. Will that be on the next test?" Harry asked.  
  
"I have some of it here," Snape said, holding up a small vial, "if things have been getting a little.. warm.. for you. Or Mr. Weasly. Love potions can be so embarrassing. Or so I hear."  
  
"Oh. I was a little dizzy for a bit, but it went away." Harry decided not to mention the poetry. It had been too awful.  
  
Snape sat up. "What?"  
  
"I'm fine. Really."  
  
Snape's eyes narrowed suspiciously, as if he were trying to detect a lie.  
  
"That's impossible. I did a Litman test on that potion - it was perfect. How did you - ? How could you - ? You could not have ingested an antidote by mistake, it is very complex.. unless..  
  
"..No. Can't be. But it's the only possible explanation. - Oh. Oh my.."  
  
Snape's laugh was long, high, and mellifluous; it rolled up and down musical scales, rang off the dungeon walls.. and sent a chill down Harry's spine. Snape, leaning over his desk, leered at Harry.  
  
"There's only one possible way that potion could not have worked," Snape smirked knowingly at Harry, scanning him uncomfortably now from head to toe, as if seeing him for the first time. "Well, well. Who would have thought? It appears, dear Mr. Potter, that you have few dark secrets of your own after all. And so young, too. How sad. At this rate, no doubt by the time you are my age, you will have a full complement of skeletons rattling around in your closet."  
  
Snape gave another bark of laughter, and leaned back in his chair with a languid satisfied smile, muttering as if to himself, "..wouldn't it be wonderful if James also.. no, that would be too much to hope, he had Lily after all.."  
  
Snape turned his attention back to Harry, who stood rooted in place, wishing there were some Dark Magic that could open a chasm under his feet he could fall through. Snape was enjoying this immensely.  
  
"A Weasley. Really, Harry - " Harry blinked at the familiar use of his first name " - even in this you show an appalling lack of taste. But don't worry. Regarding our 'little secret.' You can trust me - as much as you ever have."  
  
  
  
Snape did not allow Harry to forget their 'little secret' for a minute.  
  
That evening at dinner, Harry felt an uncomfortable prickle on the back of his neck, like he was being watched. He turned and found Snape, gazing at him from the teachers' table. Snape raised his wine glass in a silent toast to Harry, and watched him over the rim as he slowly drained the glass. Harry's face burned, and he lost all appetite. He jumped as Ron put his hand on his shoulder, with what Harry thought was too-obvious concern.  
  
"You sick or something?" Ron asked.  
  
Harry glanced back at Snape, who had blessedly turned to speak with one of the other teachers.  
  
"I'm going to be," Harry said.  
  
  
  
Snape was just as bad in Potions, two days later. If not worse.  
  
"Harry," Snape said in a silky voice, as he prodded the roots Ron had chopped for their team, "are you satisfied with Mr. Weasley's.. assistance? Is it up to par, do you think?"  
  
The Slytherins giggled, understanding from Harry's obvious discomfort that somehow Professor Snape had devised some new torture for the Gryffindors. They leaned forward to listen, eagerly. Harry couldn't think of a single answer to this that wouldn't be embarrassing, so he waited silently, hoping Professor Snape would let it pass.  
  
"Well?"  
  
Harry gave in, and nodded, blushing furiously.  
  
"I am so very glad to hear it," Snape smirked.  
  
As they were leaving, Hermione whispered, "That was strange. What's going on, Harry? What did you do?"  
  
"Yeah, he's got something on you, that's clear," Seamus added, hefting his cauldron into its case.  
  
Harry just shook his head. But behind Hermione he saw Ron freeze, and mouth the word: No! Shortly thereafter Ron cornered him between the gargoyles in the hallway outside the Potions dungeon.  
  
"How'd Snape find out? He did, didn't he?" Ron asked anxiously.  
  
Harry hurriedly explained, about the love potion, the fact it couldn't work if that's how you already felt. Ron's response was not what he expected.  
  
"You - you're in love with me?" He was stunned and suddenly nervous.  
  
"What -? Oh, I dunno. I haven't thought about it. But that's not the point," Harry continued, confused.  
  
But Ron had a very strange expression on his face. He made an excuse and left in a bustling hurry, nearly catching his bookbag on the gargoyle. He stopped to untangle it, then scrambled away with a glance.  
  
Trust Snape to really foul things up, Harry thought. Then he had that itchy feeling on the back of his neck again. Harry turned, and discovered Snape had just come out from the dungeon, and was standing in the doorway, looking at him. There was a flicker of sudden understanding in his eyes.  
  
He had heard. All of it. 


	7. Slytherin Sympathy

Slytherin Sympathy by Icarus  
  
"Potter."  
  
A bit of light trickled into the Potions Master's office from high window slits, outlining the harsh angles of his face and sharp nose, in this stone room. Those angles were echoed painfully in the spartan décor of his office, in the teachers' corridor upstairs. It was as neat as a pin, without a single personal item; not a waving photo of family, nor even so much as a spotted cactus could be found. Harry would've thought there'd at least be a Slytherin banner.  
  
Harry stood in the doorway, wondering why he was here. Was Snape was going to spring another Dark Arts test on him? Or maybe - it was too much to hope - tell him the Dark Arts class was to be canceled, forever? It was just like the sadistic Snape to let him stand there long enough work up a cold sweat.  
  
Snape didn't look up from his scrolls, continuing to write as he finally spoke, in casual measured tones.  
  
"Potter. I don't presume to know the details of your sordid private life, nor do I wish to know - " Harry listened cautiously. He agreed with that, his mind recalling Snape's erotic Book of Eros. He certainly knew more about Severus Snape's personal life than he ever wanted. "But a word to the wise. Never, ever, reveal your true feelings. Not unless you know for certain, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that they are returned.  
  
"And if necessary," Snape's black eyes met his briefly, before returning to his paperwork "- Lie."  
  
Harry stood there a moment, unsure what to think.  
  
"You may go, Harry. Unless you wish to become a permanent fixture in my hallway. I could use a new gargoyle or two."  
  
  
  
Upstairs in his bedroom that evening, Harry chewed his lip, his mind wandering from the dreadfully dull Arithmancy story problems. Who cared how many Peruvian wizards it took to cast a sleeping spell that would knock out a Spanish Wyvern? Were Spanish Wyverns more powerful than any other ones? There were too many variables. He suspected these details were added just to confuse him. He kept coming back to the same sentence, realizing he had read it three times - without reading it.  
  
He had the book spread across his knees, sitting up in his four poster bed. He wished he had Ron to complain with about this homework. The fire was lit, but most of the torches were out. All the other Gryffindors of his year were downstairs in the common room. Harry could hear whooping laughter, and a cacophony of indistinct voices. He had told them he wanted some quiet, but really, he couldn't stand how Ron was avoiding him. Again. He thought about what Snape had said. It seemed unwise somehow, to take advice from Professor Snape - after all, he was hardly what one would call a 'people person.' But the more Harry thought about it, the more it made sense.  
  
  
  
"You know, probably it was just too small a dose to work right," he told Ron in Charms class a day or two later.  
  
"Oh, sure, yeah of course - I figured that," Ron answered, brushing it off. But he looked very relieved. He sat next to Harry at lunch, for the first time in a week.  
  
And who could know? Maybe it was even the truth.  
  
Finis. Next: 'Between Friends.' 


	8. The Amazing Ron Weasley

The Amazing Ron Weasley

by Icarus

Both Harry and Ron lazily skipped breakfast the next morning. Dean and Seamus threw T-shirts at them and razzed them to try to get them to come to life, but it was useless. Harry and Ron only groaned and opened their eyes briefly. Then they blinked at one another, their eyes met rather muzzily. They nodded, and in the same moment, rolled over. Definitely sleep was far more valuable. They'd been up half the night after all, happily shooting the breeze about the Chudley Canons, the latest pranks against the Slytherins, and other little things. 

Now Harry was comfortably stretched out on his bed, robes abandoned for jeans and a T-shirt. The bed was an unmade mess, over-flowing with Ron's magazines as Harry flipped through a back issue of _Quidditch Today_. Harry sighed contentedly, happier than he'd been in a long time. 

Ron had put a Veneer Charm on the window between their beds and tried to use it as a mirror. He wasn't very good at these though, and the thing was still rather see-thru. Ron preened and fussed at his hair, brushing it first one way, then another. He'd abandoned robes for Muggle clothes as well, jeans and a T-shirt that looked a little too small.

"How's this?" Ron asked, squinting at his almost-mirror. He gave his hair a few tentative swipes.

"Huh? Fine," Harry said absently from behind his magazine without looking up. "Look at this rubbish. They say here that the Aegis Arrow formation renders the Flying Tortoise completely ineffective, but looked how bunched up their Chasers are! Way too vulnerable to bludgers. Maybe if you put everyone in _armor_…"

Ron brushed his hair the other way. "How 'bout this?"

"Fine." Harry glanced up and shrugged. He saw no difference. "I suppose if you had a good Beater defence -- but it would really overwork them. You could only use it late in the game…."

Ron parted his hair on the right, feathery red bangs sliding into his eyes. "Well, what about now?"

"You look ridiculous."

"Yeah." Ron scowled at his tenuous reflection, and mussed his hair irritably.

"But I suppose with the two new dragons we have as Beaters," Harry continued blithely, "we can just cook our opponents and not worry about it."

Ron stood back from the mirror and posed. "All right. How's this look then?"

"It looks the same as always and Ron, you're not listening!" Harry complained and dropped the magazine to his lap.

"Yes I am. Dragons as Beaters. Good idea. You'll need 'em this year," Ron answered, brushing the hair behind his ears.

"With all the injuries… You know, Ron, if you like, you can try for the second string Chaser…" Harry offered gingerly. He didn't want to get Ron's hopes up of course, but he had wanted to be on the Quidditch team for as long as Harry could remember.

"Nah. Half-way through Seventh year? Not much chance of it," Ron said, with careless disinterest. He ran his fingers through his bangs and tousled them a bit. "How's that, eh?" He peered at the 'mirror,' standing sideways.

Ron? Not interested in Quidditch? 

"Ron, it looks the same." But Harry glanced up for a moment and realised well, actually, his hair looked a lot better. And that T-shirt was way too small. It rode up a little, revealing a pale flat stomach. Harry blinked.

Ron seemed to think it looked good, too. "Lunchtime! C'mon Harry, I'm starving!" Ron took down the Charm in a shimmer of silvery sparks, and made for the stairs with a… swagger?

Ron took the steps two at a time, and tagged the archway as he jumped the last three. No one else could reach that. If Harry didn't know better he'd say that Ron was showing off. With a devilish grin Ron held the portrait door for Harry bowing in an overly polite courtly gesture. Harry rolled his eyes and cuffed him on the shoulder in disgust, then shoved him through the portrait-hole first. "Wanker. Go on…."

Ron fairly skipped down the corridors. Harry had to hurry to keep up with him as Ron almost flew down the steps. He grabbed the banisters and swung at each turn. Harry followed.

The jeans were too small too, Harry noted. Especially where his thigh met the curve of his… Harry wondered if his eyes might not just burn a hole in the pocket. But at least they were long enough in the leg for a change. When did he get those, Harry wondered.

At the bottom step Harry smirked at him, probably standing a little closer than he should, "Ron, uh, won't those cut off the circulation in your legs?"

"Nah. They stretch out." Ron tossed his hair. "They're okay, right?"

Harry had nothing to say. 

Over lunch, Ron ate as eagerly as ever, but he paid as much attention to the people around him as his food, glancing up from his plate as he shovelled it in. Which was definitely unusual. Harry watched as Ron gave a rakish 'I-shagged-Harry-Potter-I-can-have-anyone' smile to a group of Gryffindor fourth years, and Harry was surprised to see that it worked; and just who else grinned back. The fourth year girls giggled, whispered behind their hands; then giggled some more. But there were older girls, too. Harry rolled his eyes and Ron chuckled. 

"Hermione, did you want som'more tea?" Ron said. Hermione just nodded blankly.

A group of girls detached themselves from the Ravenclaw table, and Ron hurriedly got up, wiping his mouth. He patted Harry on the back, "See you later." He nodded to Hermione. "All right?"

"Ron, you haven't finished lunch!" Harry complained.

"I'll nick something from the house-elves," Ron said as he tossed his napkin to his plate "Hey… Miranda, wait up!" 

But Ron turned as Hermione answered weakly, "Um, see you…" 

Ron paused uncertainly. He walked backwards a few steps. Then finally trotted after the Ravenclaw girls with a last glance over his shoulder.

Hermione commented, "Ron looks different somehow…did he change his hair or…?"

Ron had caught up with Miranda right under the Great Hall archway. Her friends made a half circle around him as they chatted. Ron leaned a forearm against the doorjamb, and that T-shirt rode up a little more. Then from the Great Hall entrance Ron aimed a brilliant smile - _that_ smile - at Harry as he left. 

Oh, wow… Harry dropped his fork and had to scrabble for it. 

Harry ploughed into his lunch with renewed focus. He decided that if Ron Weasley discovering girls had been bad, it was nothing compared to a Ron Weasley who had discovered sex. 

Harry shook his head. For some reason, he felt just a little pleased with himself. He wondered just how he'd look in a pair of those jeans. He grinned rakishly at the spot Ron had last left.

Finis. Next: 'Between Friends.'


	9. Between Friends

Between Friends by Icarus  
  
The Gryffindor common room was a complete and utter disaster, Harry decided. It looked like someone had hit a Fotomat with an Exploding Charm. Every table, chair, stool, and even much of the floor was taken up with Hermione's project, there were moving, waving, smiling photos just everywhere. Dozens more were stuck to the walls with various gluing spells, or hovering in midair.  
  
Hermione had her wand handy and she was gloweringly ready to use it, should anyone decide to move or otherwise touch her pictures. Even Dean wasn't such a fool as to tamper - tempting targets as they were - not with that deadly wand aimed in his direction. Neville attempted to walk around, and found himself levitated over the project and set gently down by the door.  
  
"I wasn't gonna touch it!" he complained.  
  
"We're both safer this way," Hermione said curtly.  
  
She was making a photo album for her parents for Christmas. She had taken a lot of their old Muggle-style photos, made new prints, and developed them wizard-fashion so that they were all moving. It was a nice gesture, Harry thought. But certainly a lot of work. For once he was grateful the Dursley's had never given him more than toothpicks and old socks. He wasn't obligated to get them anything extravagant in return.  
  
Ron was sprawled out among the stacks, eyeing the pictures in his hands warily and looking somewhat confused. He gave Harry a helpless look, as Hermione scolded him.  
  
"No, Ron - those need to be organized by year! The others by vacation. Now get it straight, or I'll just have to do all of it myself!"  
  
Harry couldn't see why Ron didn't take her up on her generous offer. But somehow Hermione had suckered him into this. Ron struggled on gamely.  
  
Harry took pity on Ron, set aside his Firebolt and helped for a bit, until he grew bored. There was one photo Harry particularly liked, of a grinning three-year-old Hermione, her hair poofed like an angry cat's. She was on a swing and came right at you. It was a great action shot. But after less than an hour, Harry had lost patience with the never-ending project, though Ron it seemed, was ready to stick it out until the bitter end. He hovered over Hermione anxiously.  
  
"Have fun," Harry smiled to him, picking up his Firebolt and waving goodbye to the exasperated Ron. This was not how he wanted to spend his Saturday.  
  
He'd been lucky. Several Dark Arts classes had been canceled all in a row. It had now been over a week since he'd had to endure one. At first Harry had studied furiously, terrified this halt might mean an excruciating test. But none had come, and Harry began slack off and enjoy his unexpected break. The normal school schedule seemed a breeze by comparison. Best yet, Snape had stopped staring and seemed, if anything, to be avoiding Harry.  
  
Harry quickened his pace through the corridors. He didn't have Quidditch practice for at least another hour, so he could get some training runs in beforehand, to work the kinks out at last. Snape's Dark Arts class had put quite a dent in his practice time.  
  
Not a soul was on the Quidditch field. The stands were completely free of people, the grass a soft spongy green. It was gray and there was a slight mist, an almost-rain, but otherwise the conditions were perfect, with only a low wind. The grounds were slightly veiled in soft gray.  
  
He did a running kick-off from the field, an illegal maneuver in games, but it gave him exhilarating height as he soared. He executed several kick- turns, barrel-rolls, skimming the stands, then pushed himself high above Hogwarts until the pennants were mere flickering dots below. He turned, and, making a vertical arc that left his stomach in midair - he let himself drop.  
  
Harry molded himself to his broom handle as tight as he could, and steered for the ground at maximum speed. It was easy to spin like a top in this kind of maneuver, which lost ones line of sight with the ground. He managed to hold it to only one or two spins, and the hotter air of the ground rushed by him at incredible speed as he pulled out of it, within inches of hitting the dirt. The blood rushed to his ears. He saw something black, out of the corner of his eye, but whizzed by it too fast to see. Harry was breathless with joy, and whooped, pumping the air with his fist! Oh, he'd missed this!  
  
Then Harry caught sight of something white, arcing through the air. A practice golf ball. Harry took after it, and snatched it too easily. But another soared - high, too high to have simply been thrown. This one zigged and zagged, avoiding Harry's outstretched hand nimbly. He trapped it from below. Two others zipped, going in opposite directions. This took more planning - Harry's mind raced. An impossible catch, whoever threw them meant for him to miss. Both were falling quickly. He dove for the one furthest, with the lower arc. Then, in a ground-skimming sweep, he just barely caught the other, executing an end-to-end flip and skidding to a stop in mid-air. He spun around triumphantly to hold up his captures to whichever teammate had thrown them for him. But it was no Gryffindor who threw them, Harry realized with a shock.  
  
It was Professor Snape. His black figure gazed thoughtfully at Harry from across the field.  
  
Snape raised a black-gloved hand and the golf balls launched themselves from Harry's possession. They flew directly across the field to him, bobbing and dancing in the wind. He caught them. Then Snape gave a slight mocking salute, turned, and strode back to the school. The golf balls followed, floating idly behind his head.  
  
What was that about?  
  
He didn't have time to wonder, as his teammates poured onto the field.  
  
"Was that Snape?"  
  
"He's not spying for Slytherin, is he?"  
  
"No," Harry said absently. Though he wasn't sure how he knew.  
  
  
  
The Gryffindor Quidditch team laughed and stomped their way through the Hogwarts main halls, smelling of rain and the outdoors, voices loud from shouting to each other from airborne brooms. They were dripping wet, and tracking in more mud than was safe, given Filch's hopeful predilection for torture. But they had plenty of company, and there was already a fair puddle outside the Gryffindor common room. If any of the other houses wanted to learn where a common room was located, all they had to do was follow the mud on a rainy day. Harry laughed, and hoped they didn't bring disaster on Hermione's photo album.  
  
But it looked like she had finished. There were no photos to be seen, and both she and Ron were gone. She must have worked Ron like a slave! Harry grinned to himself. But he was a trifle disappointed. He wanted to talk to them about Snape's appearance on the Quidditch field, and it seemed like ages since he'd seen them. He'd been too busy, what with the Dark Arts, and the trouble with Ron and all. With Quidditch practice he felt like he'd just come back to life somehow, in a way he hadn't felt since the Dark Arts classes had begun.  
  
He waved his teammates on to the showers without him, and hunted around for signs of where his friends might have gone. Colin Creevy was perched precariously on a windowsill, magicking raindrops with a Magnetism Spell and moving them into a snowflake pattern. There were already various smiley faces, blinking at him, and complicated dragon squirmed and scowled on an upper pane. Colin was rather good at this stuff, Harry observed.  
  
"Ron and Hermione - ? Out on another date," Colin answered without turning around. "Hermione wouldn't go 'till they finished those pictures."  
  
"Another date? When was the first?" Harry was astonished.  
  
"First? Try second and third. Where've you been?"  
  
In Dark Arts classes, Harry growled to himself. Wow, he'd missed a lot. Harry had had no idea.  
  
  
  
"Fourth date," Ron grinned at him from his bed the next morning. "I don't think we got back until eleven o'clock! Hermione was frantic! She kept thinking that we would get locked out!"  
  
"You could have always stayed at Hagrid's." Harry suggested, somewhat lecherously. It was one of the places he and Ron had found when they were playing around with the Book of Eros. Quite cozy, when Hagrid was off in the Forbidden Forest. Harry was starting to miss Ron and that Book already. But his friendship with Ron had just recovered, and he wasn't going to chance anything messing it up again.  
  
"Oh, I thought of that - ! " Ron wiped his face as if trying to remove his grin. He was not succeeding. "But she's, you know, not ready for anything like that yet." Then a look of concern crossed Ron's face.  
  
"You're okay with this, aren't you?" Ron lowered his voice and glanced about cautiously. "We were uh, just - you know - fooling around, right?"  
  
"Well - you're okay, right?"  
  
"Yeah. Sure. Of course! Who wouldn't be?" he said and sighed. "Hermione.."  
  
"Then of course I am," Harry lied.  
  
  
  
The real test came a week later, late at night in the Gryffindor bedroom. Harry woke to soft, wet sounds. Kissing. And a familiar whisper. Two familiar whispers. Coming from Ron's bed. His bed curtains were drawn.  
  
Apparently Harry had slept through most of it. Thank god.  
  
"I can't find it!" one voice whispered, more loudly than they should have, in a room full of sleeping Gryffindors.  
  
Ron's head poked out from behind the curtains. He felt around on the floor, and retrieved what looked to be a bra. He glanced up, saw Harry, grinned and put his finger to his lips. Harry inwardly groaned. Ron had those familiar bright glazed eyes, a look Harry knew quite well.  
  
Are you Crazy?! Harry mouthed to Ron.  
  
Ron nodded eagerly, and disappeared back under the curtains.  
  
Moments later, Harry saw Ron and someone with fluffy hair, fuzzier than usual, back-lit against the window by the door.  
  
"See?" Ron whispered, "I told you - these guys can sleep through an Oroborus Bomb."  
  
"Okay, but honestly, if - !"  
  
"Sh!"  
  
"See you tomorrow.."  
  
"Yeah." Ron stood staring after her a moment.  
  
Harry was furious. How could Ron do this? Here? Of all places! How dare he even consider - ! He wanted to let Ron have it, right there and then, but knew he wouldn't be able to keep from waking everyone else up. So Harry turned his back on Ron, slamming his shoulder into the pillow.  
  
"Weasley." It was Seamus' voice. "Never again, you got that? Not here. I won't say anything to the others this time."  
  
That was his cue. Harry spoke up, "Look, Ron, this isn't going to do Hermione's reputation any good at all, if you pull things like this. Think!"  
  
"Oh, my opinion's gone up," said Dean from the opposite side of the room, "Waaaaaaay up. In fact, it's raised its hand!"  
  
The dark room filled with guffaws of laughter. There was a suppressed giggle from Neville Longbottom's bed. Everyone was awake. Hearing even Neville, Ron moaned and put his head in his hands.  
  
"Don't tell her! Damn you, don't tell her!" he groaned.  
  
"Hey - we're Gryffindors, right?" It was Seamus again. "And we stick together. But Weasley, if you do anything like this again - all bets are off."  
  
There were noises of agreement throughout the room.  
  
"If you don't mind - " Dean slipped off his bed. " - have to have a shower." There was more laughter.  
  
"Leave some cold water for the rest of us!"  
  
"Geeze, Ron.. I can sleep through an Oroborus Bomb alright - but that?!"  
  
Surprisingly, that last comment was from Neville, starting another burst of laughter and a round of applause. Ron threw the covers over his head, muttering, "If one of you tells her, I swear, I will kill you.. "  
  
  
  
The next morning, Harry decided he was going to have a private talk with Ron. Aside from discussing the night before, he had a lot to say to Ron. Even if he wasn't exactly sure what it was.  
  
Frustratingly, Ron was already gone before he woke. Later, he kept hovering over Hermione in the Gryffindor common room, then again downstairs at breakfast. They disappeared together into the library afterwards. Harry couldn't get a moment alone with him. It was very annoying. Harry tried again at lunch, with no greater success. Harry almost thought Ron was sticking by Hermione, just to avoid him. Harry almost burst with frustration.  
  
Hermione and Ron chattered next to Harry as if they were the only people in the world. As Harry picked at his dessert, he felt that familiar prickle again, and glanced up. Professor Snape was watching him again.  
  
Harry shot him a look over his glasses that said: Go away!  
  
Snape tilted his head to the side, in a subtle kind of shrug. If you say so, it said. He glanced aside.  
  
But somehow, Harry didn't have the energy to yell at Ron anymore. Or, whatever. He left Hermione and Ron to their conversation, suddenly aware that Ron hadn't been avoiding him today. He had just been more wrapped up in her than he had ever been in Harry. Today, he simply hadn't noticed Harry. At all.  
  
Suddenly Harry was very glad he had followed Professor Snape's advice.  
  
  
  
Finis. Next: 'Riddle of the Dark.' 


	10. Riddle of the Dark

Riddle of the Dark

by Icarus

Snape sat on the boulder they used as a table for the Dark Arts class; Harry on a low stool Snape had summoned for today, his chin in his hands. Harry had known his good luck couldn't hold. At some point the Dark Arts classes had to resume. 

The clouds above them were streaked with sunset red and pink, the Forest black about them, and there was a brisk wind. Harry's breath froze in the air in front of him. A chill was starting to sink into Harry's skin. Usually they kept active, as Harry fired spell after ineffective spell at some proposedly doomed object on the rock. But tonight, Snape simply sat, looming darkly in front of him, his face a sharp landscape of more subtle shadows in the twilight.

"Harry, we need to have a little talk." 

"Is this about Ron?" Harry asked, and then winced suddenly, wishing he hadn't been so open. The last thing you did with Snape was give him an advantage.

It seemed a slight smile flickered across Snape's face, though it was hard to guess in this light; but he said only, "No."

"Harry, I believe that you feel the Dark Arts are somehow dark and evil. Even after all our classes."

"Well, aren't they?" Harry said, in spite of himself. It seemed safer than usual to ask questions, though one could never tell.

Snape made a satisfied sound. "Yes. They can be. And I will not lie to you: they usually are.

"But the Dark Arts are not in themselves evil, Harry. That is an ignorance perpetrated by the ignorant. They have been in my family a very, very long time, and I flatter myself to think that perhaps I understand them a bit better than the likes of the Minister of Magic. Maybe, even more than our beloved Professor Dumbledore." He shook his head in the half-light.

"It is not the type of magic one uses that corrupts the mind; not the power itself, but the quest, the desire for power. Voldemort - " Harry noticed with a small shock that Snape didn't fear to use his real name either. "- he would have been a danger no matter what form of magic he practiced. Trust that I know, Harry. He could twist anything to his ends. Willful ignorance, Harry, letting the other side know more, learn more, than you.… is deadly. Letting them have an advantage, simply because we have a weaker stomach - is nothing less than suicide. This is what you, of all people, must learn."

Snape produced from a pocket in his robes a small furry vole. It nibbled cautiously at Snape's hand, then sniffed the air experimentally. Harry gasped with sudden understanding - so far all they'd hurt was a few vases and rosebuds. No….

"_Sublimino!_" Snape pronounced.

The vole toppled and lay completely still in his hand, as if hit by the Avada Kedavra curse. Harry suppressed a whimper, looking up in appalled shock at Professor Snape. Snape's eyes were blacker than the night falling around them.

"Ah. You think it's evil. But it is not what you _think_ at all, Harry." 

Snape's face was eerily outlined by stars; some creature rustled and stirred the branches behind them, but Harry paid it no notice. The vole didn't move or breathe. 

"I'll tell you a story. A wizard, a very bad wizard, was keeping Muggles for experimentation. He didn't want to feed them, these Muggles, while he, ah, kept them - stored them - between experiments. He was a madman, long caught and dead for his trouble - but.… he devised this spell. To stun them, to Suspend all life functions. Indefinitely. Until the counter spell is applied: 

"_Revivo!_"

The vole perked up, stirred. And it sat up in Snape's hand, sniffing for food. Snape's long fingers delicately caressed it. Snape looked down at Harry.

"This spell is now used by every Medi-Wizard in the field, throughout the wizarding world. A patient with wounds so severe they are draining him of blood is Suspended, until he can be brought in for treatment. 

"Is that evil, Harry?"

And the Avada Kedavra curse? Harry wondered, can you say that has benefits? But he said nothing. Because he very much feared Snape would say yes. Even about the Three Unforgivables. Thinking of how his parents died, Harry found he resented even the thought. Nor did he believe it for a second.

Finis. Next: 'Unwitting Confessions.'


	11. Unwitting Confessions

Unwitting Confessions

by Icarus

Harry returned to the Gryffindor rooms very late that night, and lay in bed staring up at the ceiling. He thought of the last moments of his mother's life, his only memory of her other than the photo album Hagrid had given him. Up until tonight, he had been starting to think Snape was okay. In a strange, Snape-ish, sort of way, that was. Harry traced every wooden beam with his eyes, all the way down to the fireplace and the windows, but sleep would not come. Finally he shook Ron awake and told him what Snape had said. Ron's eyes grew big. 

"Thanks, Harry. I'm going to have nightmares now!"

"But what do you think?" 

"That he's a loon! You know that. Wow, I don't envy you those classes, at least - not anymore. Not with Snape as a teacher," Ron shuddered. 

"I mean about what he _said_."

"Well. He is right about that Suspend Spell. Everyone uses it. Charlie uses it on injured dragons - their blood's poisonous, you know. One gusher'll kill. But - Harry, I dunno. You should talk to Hermione about it. She's good at this sort of thing."

"You know I can't tell Hermione!"

"Well…. um, you can tell Hermione a lot of things, Harry…all sorts of things, you - you'd never think." Ron mumbled. He sounded a little evasive all of the sudden. Harry was instantly suspicious.

"What do you mean by that?" 

But Ron wouldn't answer, and pretended to be asleep. After several tries Harry gave up. He supposed he would find out soon enough. At least worrying about it took his mind off Snape.

The next morning at breakfast Hermione was in a wonderful mood. Her hair bounced as she cheerfully plunked down next to Ron, and gave Harry a warm smile. A very warm smile. Then she shot a knowing look at Ron, who blushed and avoided looking at Harry altogether.

She kept this up all through breakfast, glancing over her copy of The Daily Prophet at Harry with warm looks. She was acting very strangely.

Harry got junkmail as usual, from various different stores in Diagon Alley. Because he paid for his own things, instead of his parents buying them for him, he got all of the advertisements. He neatly a ground a particularly loud one under his heel. It had announced "SALE!" causing the entire school to turn in his direction before he crumpled it to shut it up. He could tell that the next one, which was flashing a painful orange, yellow and pink, was another sale brochure. He ripped it up without opening it. The store wasn't one he recognized anyway. Someone had sold their mailing list. How else would he get advertisements from Knockturn Alley? Those smoked and threatened the reader. "If you miss this Event, you will regret it the rest of your life!" the burning letters smoldered. Harry caught Hermione smiling at him again.

"What?" he finally asked her. Ron looked distinctly uncomfortable. "What is it?"

"Oh. Nothing. Nothing at all," she beamed and stood. "Now you two behave yourselves." She left with a wink and a knowing shake of her head.

"What was that all about?" Harry turned on Ron.

"Look, Harry, it…. it just slipped out, you know? I borrowed the Book and all, and I was explaining about it and - "

"_I thought we were never going to tell Hermione!!_"

"Yes but - "

"_Don't ever tell Hermione, you said!_" Harry shoved his plate away in disbelief. How could Ron be so stupid?

"But, but - Harry, she's fine with it." Ron's face heated, "a little more than fine actually. I think - well, she likes it. A lot."

Hermione waved to Ron and Harry from across the room. Harry slumped with his head in his hands. Unbelievable, he thought. Of all the stupid gits….

"Well, we're all friends, aren't we?" Ron blinked.

I'm going to die, Harry thought.

"We were just - you know - goofing around a bit, that's all…." Ron muttered. 

"Still, maybe the three of us sometime.… " Ron continued. Harry gave him a steady look, picturing them worshipping at the golden shrine of Ron Weasley. Ron took his point, "…. or, well then - maybe not."

Strangely, he was more upset with Hermione than Ron. Things had been going just fine, until she started cozying up to Ron. But that wasn't quite fair, or even true, Harry told himself. Snape's love potion had already put a dent in his private life. If Snape hadn't…. Harry shook his head, realizing he was trying fix the blame somewhere, or on someone. He was going in circles. It was just a run of bad luck, worse than usual. But the worst had been done, and now he just needed time to assess the damage. At least Malfoy didn't know.

It was odd, now that Harry came to think of it, that Snape hadn't slipped this knowledge to his own house. But Snape had kept his word, and, other than a few snide remarks, kept it a secret. Better than Ron had, Harry thought ruefully. Even if Snape wouldn't in principal tell the Slytherins, he easily could have hinted broadly enough for Malfoy's dirty little mind to pick up on it. Yet he hadn't. Strange. But then everything about Snape was strange.

At least Harry didn't share any class but Arithmancy with Hermione today. They had assigned seats, so that left her - 'G' - far across the room from Harry - 'P'. Sitting at his desk he groaned inwardly as he saw his classmates turning in their homework scrolls. He hadn't finished their assignment for Arithmancy! And he'd left it in his room to boot. "_Accio: _Homework!" Harry caught the scroll, and scanned down it. It had many cross-outs and was rather messy, but, well, at least half of it was done. He sealed the scroll quickly, and waited till the end of class before he turned it in.

Just when Harry thought his day could not get any worse, Snape pulled him aside before Potions. He whispered in Harry's ear, a little too close.

" 'Detention,' Harry. Seven o'clock." Snape sounded rather pleased with himself. Never a good thing. "You will travel alone and meet me there this time. I have some - special preparations - I need to complete for this particular assignment." 

Snape had a strange gleam in his eye as he said the word 'preparations.' It was the look one got when someone mentioned the word 'present,' or that Ron had when you said 'Chudley Canons.' Plus, the class wasn't going to start for a full two hours later than usual. What kind of preparations were so special they took so long? It was right over the dinner hour, too. Harry couldn't start skipping meals on top of missing Quidditch practice, and everything else. He felt hungry just thinking about it.

This did not bode well at all. 

Finis. Next: 'Inferno.'


	12. Trafficking in Magic

Trafficking in Magic

by Icarus

The cavern was strangely dark and cold. Water slapped the boats against their moorings, a dull clatter that echoed under Hogwarts castle. Harry didn't bother to light any of the torches, but it felt strange to be here, alone, at this hour. Usually there was still a fading sunset glazing the surface of the lake, with Snape hovering, well - before it had seemed threateningly, but now Harry felt he was naked without Snape's dark protection at his back. At least by now Harry knew the way to the clearing in the Forbidden Forest. No doubt Snape was waiting for him for their class. Harry was late. It was after seven already.

Harry stepped into the boat, holding the dinner roll in his mouth as he maneuvered the oars into their locks. He didn't have Snape's Propulsion Spell, so he was forced to row. But he decided he could take his time as he crossed, and eat on the way. He was late anyway. Harry pushed the boat off into the dark. Faint wisps of mist clung to the cavern walls. Harry awkwardly used an oar to push the boat off a tree stump that stared out of the water, its vestigial branches reaching like claws. Past it, was open water. 

Now to keep an eye out for sea monsters, Harry thought, biting into his roll. He fumbled the oar back into place.

His supper finished, Harry began to row, keeping his eyes peeled all about him. A slimy black tentacle skimmed the surface of the lake near the boat. Harry heard the slosh of a slight wake. Then something scraped the bottom of the boat, where nothing ought to have been. Harry froze, his wand out. A long moment passed. The boat rocked gently from Harry's sudden movement. But the lake remained still, and whatever it was didn't trouble him further. Nonetheless, Harry rowed faster, and wished he'd eaten while he was still on shore.

Harry tied the moorings, gratefully climbing out of the boat, but more grateful still that Snape would be with him on the return trip. Harry had never noticed how dangerous just coming here was, not when he had Snape available to guard him. Snape had made him feel like a blundering idiot every time he wandered into some trap, but actually, it was bloody dangerous in the Forbidden Forest after nightfall. Snape only made it appear easy. Harry adjusted his cloak about his shoulders, and followed the familiar winding path to the clearing, where he and Snape practiced the Dark Arts.

None of the usual traps sprang on Harry as he cautiously followed the path. Perhaps Snape had disarmed them. Here and there, however, Harry noticed a splash of some silvery liquid on the leaves and the ground. It reminded him of unicorn blood, something he hadn't seen since his first year at Hogwarts. But on closer inspection, it was darker, more grayish, the color of quicksilver, writhing slightly. It looked alive. Harry didn't touch it, and carefully walked around. Years at Hogwarts had taught him some caution with strange magic. And this was stranger than much he had seen.

There was a large splattering at the edge of the clearing, and a silvery moon-like glow ahead. Harry parted the leaves on the edge of the clearing and stopped. Cold. 

Professor Severus Snape stood with his back to Harry, rigidly black against a silver glow that spread from the cauldron before him. A thick viscous liquid bubbled in it, without any fire under the cauldron that Harry could see, unless the fire was the same color as the glow. The liquid occasionally reached out of the cauldron, only to fall back. A glowing mist steamed about Snape, a vaporous silver cloud.

"You are late." Snape bit off the short syllables coolly. But his voice was quiet, his eyes fixed on the cauldron as though it bore careful watching. Harry imagined it would.

Harry stepped into the clearing, carefully edging around the silver-gray quicksilver splash.

"Be careful not to step on it. It is highly poisonous, and rather malignant. It fought me all the way here. I can keep it at Hogwarts, but what we're about to attempt of course…." 

Snape's voice remained that eerily focused calm. Harry wondered what he meant by 'fought,' though he was unsurprised the liquid was dangerous. It sure acted dangerous. But Snape was still talking.

"I don't know why I missed it, Harry. But it is painfully obvious to me now: I made our class too easy, I tried to explain mere theory," Snape said. "All without showing you the real thing." 

Easy? Harry's eyes widened at the thought. Snape's presence should have been reassuring, but his mood seemed strange. Talkative. Not like him at all. Harry stayed near the far edge of the clearing.

"Naturally, it didn't work. I should never have listened to Dumbledore's warnings. Go slowly, he said, be careful, Severus. But you are like me, Harry. In more ways than one. If it is too easy: you simply get bored. You have not been trying. And that is my entirely my fault, for being so blind as to not see why."

Not trying? Like Snape? Harry's mind wasn't quite grasping this. They both had black hair, but there the similarities ended. Unless Snape played Quidditch. 

"It has been like teaching music, through lecturing you about the notes. Essays. Simple spells. When the beauty of the Dark Arts is the challenge, the very danger of it! It is the sharpest tool. One unwise move, Harry - " Snape gave a short derisive laugh, " - there's good reason there are no incompetent Dark Wizards. The fools do us all the favor of weeding themselves out." 

Weird shadows, silvery and liquid, played about Snape's face. 

"You see, Harry, after my father's death I experimented with my grandfather's books. My grandfather had taught me some, before he was killed by a misguided Auror. Not every Dark Wizard gave a brass Knut for Voldemort. My grandfather was a _Scientist_," Snape glowered at the cauldron. 

"I leveled entire rooms in our house by my experiments, my mistakes. Accidents I barely crawled away from alive, alone in that rotting manor; I doubtless would not have survived were it not for the house elf."

A bit of the silver liquid on the ground reached for Harry. He edged away, deeper into the clearing, paying more attention to the quicksilver liquid than Snape's speech. Snape didn't seem to notice.

"But I learned, however slowly, without him, Harry. Things that even Voldemort doesn't know. My grandfather's research. And a little of my own. Voldemort has miscalculated if he thinks Dumbledore would not let me teach you. Books are merely a starting place, a crutch for those who don't dare go further. This," Snape indicated the silver glow, "is my own."

"Come," Snape said softly. There was a strange light in his eyes, something like Ron with the Book of Eros.

Harry stepped forward with trepidation, keeping a careful watch on the grabbing quicksilver behind them, which Snape ignored, his eyes only the cauldron.

"I did all the preparations. It starts with a simple levitation spell. Just follow my lead, Harry," Snape said evenly. 

He touched the liquid with his wand, and it followed like a fountain, a rippling banner into the air, suddenly sparkling and marvelous. Harry had never considered levitating a liquid before. 

"…. don't let it touch anything you don't want it to," Snape said smoothly.

Harry tried it. The quicksilver liquid sprang up easily with a touch, trembling in what felt like a breeze, though Harry knew there was no wind.

"You'll want to have it all suspended in the air, before you start the incantation. Beautiful, isn't it? It's malleable. And deadly. It can maim. It can destroy. Or trap. Depending on the shape you choose for it."

The liquid pooled in flashing silvery drops. It was difficult to control, Harry discovered. He found that instead of holding up one fluttering line of the stuff like Snape, it broke apart. He was trying to hold up a dozen, then a hundred, then a thousand gleaming drops, all around him. 

"…. now the gathering incantation, repeat after me…."

Harry's concentration shook with the effort of keeping it all up in the air. He started losing control, one or two drops sagged to the earth. He struggled to force them back up, and others floated too close to him. It didn't look right, but he was completely absorbed in keeping it away from him and in the air.

"Now swirl the liquid over your head like a whip - this is one of the easiest shapes. Now! _Incendio!_" 

The banner lit like a blaze over Snape's head. Snape's black eyes mirrored the quicksilver flame, entranced and glorying in its beauty.

Harry tried gamely, but only a little at the end of his wand followed his lead. The rest floated around him like autumn milkweed. 

"_Incendio!_" Harry imitated Snape as best he could.

On the other side of the sudden blue-white blaze, he saw Snape's head turn in shock.

Harry stirred in the darkness. No. Not quite darkness. There was a faint bluish light… that came from… from… himself. Harry heard a moan. Then he recognized it was his own voice. St. Elmo's fire ran lazily up and down Harry's arms. Strange. He watched it dance, slowly, lighting the bed slightly.

"Don't move, Harry," commanded an urgent, concerned voice, distantly familiar. 

But Harry couldn't help shake his head and wonder where he was. He tried to sit up - and the light increased and ran like water down his arms, as he heard someone race to his side. Peculiar - 

"Harry - !" Snape said. But there was a jolt and a flash.

Harry woke again, to the sound of voices. It was daylight. He was under a black duvet. The sheets… felt like silk. The room about him was unfamiliar. High ceilings. White walls. The furniture was all of dark wood. Through the doorway he could see a small kitchenette. That looked promising. Harry was suddenly hungry. He could now make out Professor Snape's voice, though he couldn't hear who he was talking to.

"He is indisposed. As am I. Yes, of course he's all right! We are merely working on these special classes of his. Yes, they are going well - or they were until you interrupted, to just 'drop by.' He can catch up on his other homework later. Good day to you!"

Harry heard the door slam. So these must be Snape's quarters, Harry thought idly. Nice. Somehow he expected something creepy, stuffed spiders for cushions maybe, Goya prints, decorative electric chair perhaps? But this was positively normal, elegant even. 

He didn't care what got rid of the visitors, only that they went away. He was so tired. 

Harry looked down at his arms. There was no more blue fire he noticed with relief. And he no longer felt like a thirty-watt light bulb. Pretty as it was, it had not been a comfortable feeling, watching yourself glow in the dark. He shut his eyes and sleep won over hunger.

What seemed like only moments later, Harry felt a firm weight settle on the bed next to him. He opened heavy eyes and murmured a protest. Snape, he saw, was wrapped in a dark robe, his black hair hung in lank strands on his face. He looked even more haggard than usual, dark circles and lines etched in his face, as though he hadn't slept in some time.

"Busybody. McGonagall's been sniffing around," Snape scowled. He put an arm around Harry's shoulders and helped him to sit up. In his hands was a bowl of something steaming that smelled wonderful. "Here. It's been a day and a half. You have to eat something. I've Sealed the quarters, in case Minerva tries to push my welcome. That leaves out the house elves. You will have to suffer through my cooking. Tell me if you are too weak to hold it up, and I will spoon feed you if I must. But you will not spill on my duvet!" 

The stew was excellent, however. Harry managed not to spill any, as he didn't like the idea being fed like a baby by Severus Snape. Harry was nearly through the bowl when a thought occurred to him.

"Have you eaten?" 

Snape snorted. "I will. There hasn't been much time. I did not fancy your becoming a cinder in my bed."

Harry stopped mid-bite.

"Indeed. It was a near thing. We are quite fortunate, Harry, that I had nearly the same 'accident' years ago. Otherwise I would not have known how to tend you." Snape took his empty bowl and set it down. He gazed directly into Harry's eyes, as if to impress the lesson on him. 

"Harry, listen to me: while this is partially my fault, I should have been watching - " Harry could see that admission was a bitter taste for Snape. " - you must have complete control in Dark Magic! Not a whisker, not a hair can be out of place! The Dark Arts… cannot be undone. They are not like the simple little school hexes you've hitherto learned. For those, there are always counter charms, if not twenty such. But the Dark Magic, it is too extreme for counterspells. It is permanent. Like walking off a cliff. The best one can do is repair the damage."

Harry looked at his hands, noticing for the first time the spider web of criss-crossing bluish scars that ran over his skin. It looked as though he had been sliced to ribbons. He pushed up his sleeve urgently - realizing now he was in a black satin nightshirt, probably Snape's - and saw the scars were all over his arms, his chest… everywhere. 

"They are looking much better. Now." Snape said wryly. "But no, you are not quite your usual pretty sight. It will require a couple more days to heal, I believe. I can stall Minerva for at least that long." Snape scanned him, and his eyes settled briefly on his chest. Harry realized his nightshirt was open, and buttoned it with a blush.

Harry felt suddenly very tired, as if merely eating had taken all of his energy. His head drifted back to the pillow. He heard rather than saw Snape stand and pick up his bowl, and walk across the room; heard the charm as Snape conjured a cot, blankets and some pillows. A last thought occurred to Harry as he drifted off to sleep… Snape, you have really screwed up this time, haven't you? 

He didn't think he had said it aloud, but Snape answered.

"Yes. Do me this one favor, and live. I owe Dumbledore a great deal, and I'd rather not repay it by losing him his famous Harry Potter."

Finis. Next: 'In the Lair of the Snape.'


	13. Lair of the Snape

Lair of the Snape

by Icarus

In the middle of the night Harry's arms tingled; the hair stood on the back of his neck. He stirred, opened his eyes. He saw the blue fire flutter like a ghost, tracing the scars on his hands and arm -

" - Snape?! Professor!" He sat up, forgetting this made it worse.

"Stop shouting…" Snape growled half asleep. He turned, glimpsed the blue glow and threw back his blankets. "Merlin's bollocks - " 

Snape snatched a potion jar from the nightstand, and pried it open with shaking hands. He scooped out something that glowed eerily like Harry's arm and reached for Harry. Harry flinched away.

"It absorbs the charge," Snape said sourly, grabbing Harry's hands. "Here." 

He took up a finger full of the stuff and rubbed it into Harry's skin. Harry blinked at him, uncertain. 

"Don't look at me like that." Snape glanced up. "We have done this a dozen times already. It should be somewhat easier with you awake and cooperative - I emphasize cooperative. How is it you suppose these scars have healed so quickly?" 

Snape snapped up his wand, and with a command lit the candle. In the warmer light the potion did not look quite so poisonous and intimidating. Slowly, as Snape soothed it into Harry's skin, the arcing fire eased and subsided.

Snape continued stroking up Harry's arm to his shoulder, then started on the other hand. His touch was deft and cool, and surprisingly gentle. Harry began to relax. Snape's hands worked more slowly along his other arm, kneading Harry's bicep and shoulder. Then Snape started to pull off the nightshirt Harry was wearing. He stopped.

"You will probably… prefer to continue this yourself," he hesitated.

Harry just waited. Snape nodded, briefly, and pulled the nightshirt up and over Harry's head, the candle flickering. 

He directed Harry to lie on his stomach. Harry snuggled in among the blankets. As Snape started with his neck and shoulders, and smoothed his way gently down Harry's back, the tension and fear eased out of Harry. 

It felt so nice… Harry's mind drifted. It had been a long time since Ron had touched him like this. He didn't realize how much he missed it until now, as he drank it in.

Moments later, Snape stopped with an irritated sigh. He leaned ruefully on an elbow and brushed the lank hair out of his eyes. 

From Harry there came a soft snore.

"You can finish it yourself tomorrow then," he told the insensible young man, and replaced the lid on the potion. 

~*~

At first Harry smelled something faintly unpleasant, medicinal, and he stirred. Next he was aware of daylight pressing on his eyes. He didn't want to open them. But the fact he was hungry, too, nagged him until he finally woke. 

Snape's pillow was downy soft and tried to convince him to stay in bed, almost successfully. Harry looked about Snape's bedroom. There was no sign of Snape or his cot. He must be teaching, Harry supposed, though he wasn't sure what day it was. He winced, wondering how much homework he'd have for the classes he'd missed. He decided it wasn't worth worrying about. 

The potion for Harry's scars was on the bedside table, the lid carelessly replaced. That was the source of the medicinal smell. Harry tightened it, wrinkling his nose. It didn't do much good. Snape's apartments were pretty chilly, and Harry couldn't find his clothes anywhere. He finally gave it up and wrapped the nightshirt closer. He did find his wand.

The scars seemed thinner, fainter, and more flesh-coloured today. But the biggest difference was in how much energy Harry had. He felt a little bit shaky, but otherwise he was almost normal. And hungry. For lunch? Breakfast? Well, that depended on what time it was. It seemed rather late, based on the soft grey light that came from high overhead windows, he guessed it was nearly noon. There was a persistent ticking sound from the kitchen. On inspection, this clock didn't show the time however. The hands had pictures of the Hogwarts Professors, and words such as 'Pleased,' 'Smug,' Bored,' and 'Annoyed' around the face. Professor Flickwick's picture was down at 'Irate' and ticking like a bomb. Harry wondered what anyone could do to make Flickwick mad.

The kitchen was small, a little cold, but comfy, with wood counters and a small table. At it were two ornately carved chairs. Feeling a little like a burglar, Harry raided the refrigerator. 

Harry plucked up a terse note from Snape that hovered inside: "Eat - then go back to bed!" it scrawled, then the letters disappeared. 

The fridge contained a variety of potions, neatly labelled: 'Choking Potion,' 'Wart Serum,' 'Bolyvorg,' and a dozen others of a poisonous or otherwise unpleasant sort. Harry dearly hoped none of them ever spilled, as he pulled out the makings for a sandwich. He nearly stepped on an untouched saucer of milk on the floor by the sink. 

When he was done eating, he went to wash up, but the sink snatched the plate from his hand started washing it.

"Uh… thanks," he said to it, startled.

He glanced at Snape's note and noticed it had changed. 'Biscuits are in the jar in the cupboard. Leave me some.'

With a plate of biscuits, Harry felt a little more welcome, though the note was a tad like having Snape watch over your shoulder. He explored Snape's living room. 

There was a huge fireplace, with an ornate black candelabra on the mantle. Every wall was covered in bookshelves, and there was a large black leather-upholstered chair and love seat. A large picture of a crow over the fireplace blinked at Harry, eyeing him suspiciously. 

"I won't break anything," Harry promised it. The crow seemed unconvinced.

Framed sheets of music were on the walls; Harry accidentally discovered these played if you bumped them. He looked apologetically at the crow. A small Celtic harp stood on a pedestal in the corner. Harry reached for the strings, when he noticed a brass placard: 'Cursed since 1871.' Beside it was an enormous book on Curse Breaking from the Hogwarts library Restricted section. Harry wondered if Snape was having any luck. He supposed not. The book was long overdue. 

Harry noticed there were a lot of restricted books on Snape's shelves, nicer copies than they had in the Library. Right out and available. But recent experience made Harry a little less curious than he normally would be. There were other books in all different languages, Latin, French, Italian… tons of journals on Potions. There was little to interest Harry. The rack next to Snape's chair looked more promising. There was a much-thumbed copy of a trashy Romance novel by a popular witch - Snape had the whole series - copies of the Daily Prophet, The Apothecary Journal vol. 561, and several biographies of obscure wizards. They all had bookmarks in them; it looked as if Snape read numerous books at the same time. 

Then a book on one of the shelves caught Harry's eye. Maybe it was slightly askew, or the cover looked a little different. Or perhaps it was the letters sticking out of it. In any case, as Harry pulled it off the shelf a number of postcards tumbled to the floor, and some folded letters. He opened one of the letters. "Thank you, you devil, it was a complete surprise - " it started. Harry had an attack of conscience and put the letter away. It seemed personal. Postcards however, as everyone knows, are fair game. "Wish you were here!" they said, and had photos of a young wizard with long blond hair, about the same age as Harry. He wasn't handsome, his eyes were a little watery and too close together, but he had an open, genial face. He grinned at Harry and blew a kiss from the top of the Eiffel Tower. Harry turned to the book. It had an inscription on the inside cover:

Thought you'd like this, you dirty Bastard! Happy Birthday!

Love, 

****

Torvald

Harry opened the book. It was all pictures. 

Paging through Torvald's gift, Harry suddenly understood why Severus Snape had kept Harry's secret about Ron. It made complete sense.

Harry picked up and set his plate of biscuits on the coffee table, and carried the book to the love seat for a closer look. 

~*~

Harry startled awake in a tangle of nightshirt, book and biscuits at the sound of a door slam. Snape's footsteps approached. He realized, too late, that he had the book in his lap. Snape eyes went to the book immediately, and he stood glowering over Harry. After a moment he spoke:

"Of a thousand perfectly innocent books on my shelves, how the devil did you manage to find that one?" Snape folded his arms.

Harry had no answer. Snape snatched away the book and opened it.

"You didn't read Torvald's letters," he said. It was a statement, not a question.

"No," Harry managed, "I - I don't read other people's letters." He tactfully omitted the postcards.

There followed a heavy silence. Snape placed the book firmly back on the shelf. Harry cringed. He couldn't remember falling asleep; when had he done that? He had been looking at the pictures, and his fantasy must have blended into a dream. Harry guiltily followed the living embodiment of that fantasy with his eyes, as Snape stalked into the kitchen.

Harry heard finally, "Did you think, at the very least, to leave any biscuits?"

Harry nodded, then realizing Snape couldn't hear a nod, answered aloud: "Yes." 

"Small favours..." Then Snape said in a tight voice: "Go to bed, Harry."

Harry hesitated at the bedroom doorway. He had to know. 

"Torvald… is he - is he your boyfriend?" Harry asked quietly.

"Did I ask you to blunder into my personal life?!" Snape stormed. The crow in the photo batted its wings at Harry. "I would rather you had played that harp!"

Harry fled into the bedroom, though he had at least part of his answer. 

Shortly afterwards Snape extinguished the lights in the kitchen. Harry pretended to be asleep as Snape readied for bed. Harry felt very bad that he had ever brought it up. Snape invoked the cot again, and two pillows plus a blanket dropped out of the sky. Then Snape curled under the blanket. Harry heard a heavy sigh. 

Finally, Snape relented.

"No, Harry. He's not," he said softly into his pillow. "Not anymore." 

Finis. Next: 'Midnight.'


	14. Midnight

Midnight

by Icarus

"Wake up, Harry."

Harry groaned and threw his arm over his eyes. "Can't it wait, Ron…"

"Well. This marks the first time a Snape has ever been mistaken for a Weasley. No doubt my ancestors are churning in their graves," Snape said. Harry opened his eyes reluctantly. 

Snape was bundled in his robe, a study of shades of blue and shadow beside the bed. The bright moonlight made a metallic sheen on his hair. Harry simply stared for a moment. 

Snape made a curt commanding gesture. "Up." He held out the jar of the glowing blue potion. "We forgot something." 

Snape mentioned nothing of the reason for their distraction. Harry winced and caught Snape's dark eyes in an apologetic glance. Snape pursed his lips and made a dismissive gesture: _forget it_, it said.

They didn't bother to light the candle this time. The potion was almost easier to see in moonlight, leaving a slight glowing film where Snape applied it, a glimmer that gradually disappeared into Harry's skin. Now that Harry was used to it, he thought it looked kind of cool. And at least in the dark the ugly scars seemed to be nearly gone. 

Harry's eyes scanned the room; the bright squares of light on the floor and walls were nearly the same colour as what was being spread on his arm, though brighter. It was probably a full moon, or close to it.

They were quiet for a while, until curiosity got the best of Harry. He just wasn't one who could let a question be.

"What happened? With Torvald, I mean."

Snape glanced up, then continued spreading the potion on Harry's chest. 

"How are things progressing between you and Weasley?" he asked, smoothly. 

Harry was taken a little aback at his prying. Then he got the point. Oh. After a moment Harry decided to answer anyway. Fair was fair. He had certainly pried enough into Snape's life.

"He, uh… he's with Hermione," Harry admitted.

"Hm." Snape grunted thoughtfully. "Yes. I thought I noticed him slobbering all over her during Potions." 

Harry snorted. He had to admit it was a fairly accurate description. Not to mention that Ron was, after all, a rather wet kisser.

"You can do better than that," Snape glanced at Harry. "With those eyes - much better."

Harry blinked. Was that a compliment? He lay still, more than a little surprised. Feeling Snape's cool stroke, delicate and precise, and so very… thorough_…_ along his side, something dawned on Harry. He kept it to himself, with a small victorious sense of satisfaction. They were quiet a moment longer.

"He had nice hair. Torvald," Harry observed neutrally. Snape merely grunted.

"I like long hair," Harry said idly, his hand grazing a lock of Snape's, that had stuck to the potion on his arm. It was softer than he had imagined. Snape raised an eyebrow. His eyes were jet black and intense. Difficult to read.

"Mine was longer than his," Snape smiled slightly, reminiscing. He returned to smoothing the salve across Harry's chest and shoulder. "I was forced to cut it. For work. It kept becoming an unexpected 'extra' ingredient in my potions. Sometimes they would merely be discoloured. At other times the results were… spectacular."

Harry laughed, a trifle too loudly for the joke. Snape glanced at him suspiciously. His ministrations had reached Harry's neck and face. Harry nibbled at his fingers.

"The antidote is _not_ edible," Snape admonished, pulling the potion away. Harry lay back on his pillow and behaved himself. A little.

"You know, I thought of something," Harry said, deliberately casual, with a sly glance. "I could have done this myself. You didn't need to be putting this stuff on me anymore."

Snape paused. There was a bit of tooth revealed in his wry moonlit half-smile. 

"Nor did you need to let me," he pointed out.

"The scars are everywhere," Harry noted, amusement sparkled in his eyes. "How far did you go?"

Snape didn't answer, but looked down into Harry's growing smile, and froze.

"I am… thorough," Snape said carefully. He didn't move. His face hovered over Harry's. 

"I'll bet," Harry said. The space between them seemed very small.

"How far were you going to let me go now?" Snape asked. Harry didn't answer, but his response was an admission of guilt. Snape's lips parted in shock, surprisingly pliant under Harry's. Harry's heart beat wildly at his daring.

"I'll bet…" Snape murmured, as he slid his arms around and seized Harry's shoulders with a shuddering sigh, and deepened Harry's kiss. His hands shook. He finally dropped the potion to the bed.

After a long while, Snape broke away and murmured into Harry's cheek, his rich, low voice tickled Harry's ear. 

"Tell me if you don't want this…" he bit at Harry's jaw. "…but tell me now..." nuzzled his neck and hair with a throaty snarl. "…while I can still stop." Snape pulled back a little and his teeth were fierce and feral in the cool light. 

Harry's answer wouldn't come out, it was unintelligible, so he pulled Snape closer to answer, opening his mouth to devour him, trying to pull him out from under the voluminous robe. Snape's face was carved in moonlight. His breath came in low gasps, and he crushed his cheek to Harry's hair. His hands travelled expertly over Harry's back, slipping underneath the shirt.

Snape tore himself away for a moment, and Harry heard a faint rustling of fabric. Then Snape climbed in under the sheets. Harry felt a bare smooth chest, and bare skin. All the way down. His wiry, slightly broad shoulders, his long waist… and oh, that was it. Snape expertly manoeuvred their bodies together. This wasn't two boys fumbling in the dark. This was a man. Who was gloriously nude beside Harry. He couldn't get over all that expanse of silky skin. Snape was cool as ivory, and so very smooth. 

Snape's eyes allowed and followed Harry's exploration; his mouth was curled in a small, amused half smile. 

Then Harry climbed on top and tangled their long legs together, just to feel as much of him as he could. There was a slight cough of surprise from Snape. A fleeting thought told Harry that Snape hadn't expected him to take the lead. 

"I shall take your aggressive mauling of me as a 'yes,'" Snape said with rumbling humour, before he seized Harry again.

Then his firm grip reached down and wrapped around Harry, stroking him; he felt oil warmed in Snape's hand, a spreading warmth. Snape whispered hoarsely, indicating what he held, "Just you bear in mind - this is _mine_," as he lifted his legs slightly and guided Harry toward his goal.

At first, it was too much, the wash of sensation…. Harry waited for his thrumming heartbeat to catch up with his breathing. Then it intensified but became easier as he began to move. Snape threw his head back on the pillow, black hair tangled over his face; his smooth chest bare to the air, spread out before Harry. The sight made the blood sing in Harry's ears, he was almost embarrassed to see Professor Snape like this. Oh, God, he was beautiful. 

The silky Adam's apple bobbed as Snape swallowed, breathed; and Harry gasped as he felt Snape relax under him. Professor Snape's mouth made a little 'o', almost protest but mostly need - he had to stop thinking 'Professor,' it was too _weird_ - and at the hunger in Snape's face, Harry surged forward. As he began to move, with a gasp at just how this _felt_, Harry bit his lip to not groan out loud, not knowing why, except it seemed irreverent with this elegant man, sprawled with boneless grace beneath him… oh, God…

Harry had thought Snape's eyes were closed, but two slivers glimmered up at him. Watching Harry. And then Harry did moan -- he was being watched with such hazy desire. And he wanted - so wanted - that catch in Snape's throat, the lips parting and that gasp! Wanted to make Snape's chest rise and fall, like that, his hands clutch at the sheet, too - yes. To breach the distance there was still between them. And he so wanted to be more than just a fantasy fulfilled, that Harry clenched his teeth, cursed and breathed, said: 

"_I. Am. Right. Here!_" …and didn't know why he said it, exactly. 

To his surprise though, those eyes grew aware and present. Harry lost himself, and came, hovered on the edge of bliss and almost pain, his mind disappearing into a vortex. When Harry blinked and recovered his wits, Snape's superior smug smile was there, though with more heat than Harry had ever seen. And Snape chuckled.

"No shit," Snape answered him.

Harry never dreamed Professor Snape could swear - Curse, yes - and so crudely even. Then Harry laughed, as he realized that it was the only thing he hadn't imagined his Professor doing. It was all suddenly so real, and so different, than anything Harry had expected. He fell sideways onto the bed, next to the miraculously real man beside him.

"Fuck…" Harry laughed weakly, his hands on his face. "This is not what I ever pictured."

"Nor I."

And that last was so like Snape it gave Harry something to centre on, that Snape was still Snape, for all that he was more. Harry lay on the bed panting, and let his breath catch up with him. He wondered blearily what he could use to clean himself. Certainly not the silk sheets. 

"Severus." Snape's quiet voice startled Harry out of his haze.

"_Hwa_… ?"

"You called me 'Professor.'" Snape's mouth twitched and eyes gleamed with odd humour. "So formal."

"I did?" Harry said, surprised. Snape snorted.

"'Professor' is not my name. Though some days it may as well be," Snape said sardonically.

He leaned up on an elbow and swept the tangled black hair off his face. Harry decided he preferred it messy, though at the moment he wanted to straighten it himself. But he hesitated for some reason, despite all that he'd already dared. There was a difference between a moment of passion, and continuing on purpose.

"Severus…" Harry made his name a caress, and cuddled into the pillow next to him. Severus…

Then delicately, Harry ran his fingers through the black tangle, smoothing it. Severus' mouth softened in invitation; he grunted at the touch. Harry trailed his fingers down Severus' shoulder… his arm, to his waist… Harry felt sleepy.

"I was surprised… I pictured you…well, differently…."

"You were 'picturing' me?" Those eyebrows flicked upward, lightly. "Do tell." Severus had that feral look again. With recent associations, it made Harry break into a cold sweat, and blood pound and rush to - well, he wasn't sleepy anymore. He was rock hard. Severus leaned closer. "How, exactly, were you 'picturing' me?"

Bastard. He knew the effect he was having.

"Well… um… not on the bottom…" Harry was embarrassed.

"Do you want to be on the bottom?" Severus asked softly. 

It was the hand that snaked around Harry's thigh at this moment that made Harry blush.

Severus' lips drew back in a broadening smirk at Harry's conspicuous silence, revealing brilliant uneven teeth.

"Practicalities," Severus explained. "I, ah, was in no mood to slowly navigate virgin territory." 

Harry smiled slightly. "Huh. Not exactly virgin..."

"Who - ?" Severus frowned slightly, puzzled. 

"You know…" Harry shrugged.

"Ronald Weasley went _that far!?_" Severus spluttered. His bare shock dissolved into a bark of laughter. "I don't know whether to be more impressed with his unexpected… flexibility… or your powers of persuasion. Though I strongly suspect the latter." 

Harry decided not to mention it was only the once, and Ron had been hell to deal with afterwards.

"Well…" Severus reached for the oil. He picked up the potion jar and set it on the endtable with a _clunk_. Harry feasted on the sight of Severus' long body, sitting up on his knees, languidly stroking oil. "This promises to be more fun than I imagined…"

"You've been 'imagining' me?" Harry's eyes sparkled up at Severus impishly. He was guided onto his stomach. 

Severus made a noise of disgust. "Oh, shut up, you know I have…" he growled into that ticklish spot on the back of Harry's neck.

Harry was about to protest over his shoulder that, really, he'd had no idea, but saw Severus lick his lips, and froze. Silky cool fingers wrapped around Harry and stroked.

Harry tried to remember to relax as Severus' subtle, delicate finger probed, circled, then smoothed gently along the crack of Harry's arse. An erotic torture. Promising…

"Oh god… mercy…" Harry whimpered.

Severus purred, "I thought you knew… I have no mercy..."

Harry never, ever dreamed he'd be glad of that.

~*~

Hours later, Harry snuggled in against Severus' side, feeling cosy and smug. They had not yet bothered to straighten out the blankets, but instead had stolen the ones from Snape's cot. It didn't look like he was going to need it.

"What happened to him? Torvald, I mean," Harry asked.

"This is bordering on an obsession," Severus muttered irritably. He settled Harry's weight a little closer and sighed. After a long moment he spoke.

"He died. Killed by an Auror." Severus stared up at the ceiling with an unreadable expression.

"Like your grandfather?"

"No - !" Snape snapped. "Grandfather didn't deserve it. He was no Death Eater."

There was a long silence. Harry was shocked. In the pictures Torvald looked too, well, friendly to be a Death Eater. And something else troubled him.

"But I thought Aurors brought people in to the Ministry for judgment. To be sentenced. Mostly anyway." He swallowed at the thought of that sentence. He didn't like to imagine the smiling Torvald in Azkaban.

Severus had a strange look in his eyes. He stroked Harry idly. 

"Yes, well. You are an innocent - in some ways. Moral sensibilities change with the times, with fashion, Harry. To hear the Ministry speak of it now, you would think their Aurors coddled Death Eaters in swaddling clothes, and fed them candy till they confessed. I assure you, that was not the case.

"I wish you would stop asking about him. Go to sleep, Harry."

Finis. Next: 'Afterglow.'


	15. Afterglow

Afterglow

by Icarus

Harry woke in a larger bed than his own four-poster, tangled in the slippery black duvet. He was wearing nothing more than the sheets, which were a thin, decadent silk. He fumbled for his glasses. With a glance around the room, his memory of the night before came back into focus, as well as that of last few days.

"The shower is over there," Severus said tersely, without looking up. 

He was already up, already dressed, sipping his morning tea. His dark robes cascaded over the chair in the kitchenette attached to his private quarters at Hogwarts. He went back to his tea. Beside him was a stack of scrolls. He picked up a curled black quill and made a note on one of them.

Harry watched him. He found it hard to reconcile this cold man with the intensity of the night before, but he saw nothing else to do but obey. Severus made no attempt to ease the awkwardness of their situation. Harry wished for a distraction. He wanted to hide, somewhere, or perhaps get very drunk. Almost as much as he wanted to watch in morbid fascination as Severus went through his morning routine, just like a normal person. It was something Harry had never imagined. There was one thing Harry didn't want to do, and that was parade around Snape's private apartments in the nude.

"Can I - do you… have a robe I can borrow?" Harry asked, embarrassed.

Severus grunted assent, and indicated his own robe, hung up by the dresser. It was black. Of course. Harry climbed out of bed and caught Severus watching him out of the corner of his eyes as he put it on. Harry hid a smile as he tied the robe. Well. Not so cold after all.

"There is some toast. And tea," Severus said in a bored, laconic voice, "I don't go to the main hall for breakfast. I don't like loud noise, especially not in the morning, so try to keep that in mind."

Harry had never noticed Professor Snape skipped breakfast, but he couldn't recall a single morning he'd seem him there, come to think of it. Severus continued with what sounded like a well-prepared speech.

"Harry Potter. Do not dream to expect any special favors from me. No matter where you've slept, no matter what bed you've warmed, you are the same as any other student." Severus' chest heaved, "Last… evening… doesn't change a thing between us."

It was the dumbest thing Harry had ever heard him say. Even he had to know that was impossible. Harry decided to ignore the suggestion of a bath. Or anything else Severus would suggest. He was clearly barking mad.

Harry wandered over to the kitchenette, and picked up a cup. He noticed Severus' was empty so he picked it up as well.

"You take your tea black, I suppose?" 

It was an easy guess. Severus glanced up at Harry with casual wariness, and nodded as Harry poured and set his cup on the table. Harry plunked down in the chair in front of him, stretching as he crossed his ankles.

"I like mine with sugar."

"I am sorry, but I do not keep any sugar about. I haven't a child's sweet tooth."

"I'm no child," Harry muttered. 

Severus looked up from his papers. His eyes swept Harry's barely covered form. His own bathrobe was a little large in the shoulders, but otherwise fit him. They were of a height. The young man was all leg; the soft skin of a thin but well-formed chest peeked out from under the robe. His black hair was untidy, and Severus would have mockingly suggested a comb, if he didn't know it always looked like that.

"Yes. Thankfully. Seems I haven't fallen to utter depravity just yet."

"You…ah," Harry licked his lips nervously as he leaned forward a bit, "you… probably shouldn't be doing this with a student." 

It was unwise, and probably not even safe to bring it up, but it had to be said. Harry braced himself. Severus sat back in his chair, and said with a haughty glance.

"A fount of wisdom you are this morning. All of the sudden. What were you doing last night then, Mr. Potter, my moral guide and conscience?"

Touché, Harry thought.

"I suppose you think you might reveal these fascinating facts about our Potions master? My 'eccentricities' are known by many, if not all. But how will the Harry Potter fan club react, if they knew about you? Hm. Once again you are not thinking, Harry. Fortunately for you, I am." With that, Severus went back to his parchment.

That went well, Harry decided. No severed limbs or hexes. Harry wished Severus' quarters had eye-level windows, as he looked about the walls, bored. He rethought that, remembering what they had been up to last night. No, probably no windows was better.

"Grading papers?" he finally said to break the silence.

Severus graded another essay and didn't look up. "Yes. For some reason I didn't get much work done last night."

"How'd I do?" Harry asked.

Severus was amused. "Badly."

"I meant on the Potions test."

"I most certainly meant the test," Severus said wryly, with a glimmer of a smile.

"Oh. Oh well." Harry couldn't help but feel pleased at the backhanded compliment. "At least I've got 'Care of Magical Creatures' to make up for that."

"Yes. It is so unfortunate that one has to earn one's A's in my class."

Or be a Slytherin, Harry thought. But he suspected that even in this, what passed for an afterglow with Severus Snape, he didn't dare say it aloud. Then, as if Severus had heard his thought anyway, he put down the quill and ordered:

"Take that off."

Harry blinked.

"The robe. Take it off." 

Severus' black hair swung as he stood and helped Harry pull the robe to the table. Harry awkwardly complied, too surprised to do otherwise. He was grateful the kitchen was warmer than the rest of Severus' quarters as he stood shivering in his skin. But Severus was eyeing him with a clinical glance.

"Hm… The bruises have healed mostly. The 'other' scars are nearly gone; unnoticeable. Good. Fresh bruises from last night, but that can't be helped… well, well, lucky you, Harry. You are now fit to return to class. No doubt you will have plenty of homework to catch up on from these last four days. Should keep you out of trouble."

Harry put the robe back on, feeling somewhat violated, like he'd just had a prostate exam in the Muggle world. Professor Snape scooped up his graded tests, and swung his cape on in an elegant swirl of black. At the door he paused, turning to the young man, in his kitchen, wearing his robe.

"That is a good color on you, Harry. Very dramatic, a fit setting for the eyes, " said Severus, "But I like you better without it."

And with that, he strode out the door to teach his first class, saying casually over his shoulder.

"Do not be late for Potions."

Severus Snape could make Harry feel so very good, and so much like a squashed bug, all in the same moment. It was a little like being at the Dursleys' in a way. Only he hated the Dursleys. Harry didn't know what he felt for Severus. 

All the same, Harry hunted around Severus' kitchen. Sure enough, he found the sugar bowl. It was full. He knew Severus had lied about that. He left the sugar bowl in the middle of the kitchen table, just to make his point. Harry then made himself another cup of tea, this one with sugar. He didn't care if he was late for his next class. Or Potions.

Especially not Potions.

Finis. Next: 'Firelight and Dreams.'


	16. Firelight and Dreams

Firelight and Dreams

by Icarus

Severus Snape returned to his apartments fairly humming, in rare form today for some reason. Oh, there were many reasons. 

He had wrung thirty points from Gryffindor - take that, Minerva, he thought - and ten from Ravenclaw. He had even wrangled a few from those stubbornly good Hufflepuffs. In a nearly even exchange, Slytherin had won forty-five points, though not all of those were from him. Severus visualized those points levitating through the air, from their respective houses, to his own. Winning of course was wonderful, but winning while the others lost was particularly satisfying, as he watched that exponential surge into the lead. It was more how it was like in the real Wizarding world. When one wizard won, another almost certainly lost. He had learned that young, and thought it best others did as well. Luckily for him, in this case it was also fun.

It had been most amusing to watch the discomfited Harry attempt to explain his four-day absence without any reference to either his private classes in the Dark Arts, (sworn as he was to secrecy by Dumbledore), or his even more illicit new closeness with his Potions teacher. He was, as ever, a bad liar. 

Severus had originally listened so they could keep their stories straight. But the results were a scream. After a half-hour of partially overheard entertainment, he brushed by Harry in the hallway, and muttered the proper incantation. Then with the briefest nudge with his wand up his sleeve, he put the Listening spell on Harry for lunch. It was illegal, of course (though former spies don't bother with such technicalities), and easy to Ward against if one thought to do so. Amazing how many people didn't. The world was a Fool's Paradise for lawbreakers; something else he had learned as a young Death-Eater, much to his shock at the time. Dumbledore would have his head if he saw this spell employed. But the temptation was just too great. 

Severus had trouble keeping a straight face all through lunch. Harry stumbled and contradicted himself, leaving his friends more confused than before he opened his mouth. 

Then Harry was even worse than most people at not looking where ought not to - dangerous. It forced Severus to make an excuse to scold him under his breath: "Stop making a fool of yourself." Though in fact, Severus felt warmed by his glances, which clearly sought the man under the robes. 

Meanwhile he had a wonderful time mock glaring at Harry, just to enjoy him. He could get away with it. Most would assume it was just his usual dislike for everything 'Potter.' 

Severus decided he rather liked the way Harry squared his shoulders when he stood, a habit from Quidditch he supposed. Quidditch players had that astonishing sense of balance. It gave Harry, who otherwise would have been gawky, a bit of poise. 

Then Harry arrived five minutes late to Potions class. Deliberately. That raised Severus' eyebrows. Bold of Harry. But the show of independence brought a satisfied inward smile. 

Keep it up, Harry, Severus thought, and I may just find that I like the man as much as I disliked the boy.

Those were five of the points he took from Gryffindor today, of course. Whatever the reason, no one came late to his class and got away with it. 

So Severus was in a rare good mood as he slid back the hidden panel in the back of the third level dungeon, and said: "_Heliotrope._" 

The passage fanned open to reveal the long square block staircase to his quarters. Despite the fact these particular quarters were capacious, none of the other Professors had wanted them. Too long a walk. He thought the walk would do some of them good: Professor Sprout was getting positively tubby. It was something Severus took seriously. As a Death Eater he had seen many who could have survived their ordeal, if only they had kept in better physical condition. Not every death had been deliberate. _Avert._ The simple charm diverted his mind from that line of thought. He knew where it led. His mind returned to the past like a lodestone, and it was not a pretty place to live. Unfortunate, that virtually everything conspired to remind him of it.

When he finally arrived at his quarters, he spelled the door open and pulled off his cape. Severus was mildly annoyed to find the fire unlit on the stone hearth. A wind whistled down the flue. He reflexively checked for harmful spells. There were none. Not that it was likely at Hogwarts, mind. 

But where were the house elves? No matter. "_Incendio!_"

With a gesture he lit the fire in his sitting room, and the wall sconce torches, and then with a flourish, all the candles in the mantle candelabra for good measure. He was frugal usually, but he felt good today. His tea wasn't on, either, he noticed with irritation. He was getting more than annoyed with the elves' unusual inefficiency. It wasn't as though he'd changed his schedule.

Severus tossed his cape generally in the direction of the coat rack. It neatly snaked out and grabbed it, as quick as a frog's tongue. A cat was curled up on the hearth, not Minerva McGonagall, thank goodness. It stretched, and then walked absently into the fire. It was a ghost cat that came and went as it chose, and had come with the apartments. Severus had the fleeting fantasy that he was the visitor, while the apartments belonged to her. Or him. He never bothered to find out which. He put out saucers of milk for it occasionally, which it licked without disturbing the surface. It seemed to appreciate it nonetheless. Ghost animals made good pets. They were very clean.

He stepped into the bathroom to change, and found puddles left on the floor. Harry. As he crossed to the bedroom he noted and picked up his bathrobe, slightly damp, from the duvet. 

Irritating boy. 

What plague had infected the house elves, that they hadn't cleaned up his mess? Then he remembered. The Sealing Spell, of course! 

He had Sealed his quarters so no one could come in while Harry was healing. The house elves must have gone mad trying to do their job, but it was no use. McGonagall wouldn't even be able to break in (though no doubt Dumbledore could. Not that he'd be so rude as to try). 

Severus took down the spell, and three or four elves tumbled into the room all at once, in the manner of those who had been pushing on a door until it finally sprang open. They scrambled about frantically, putting the tea on, swabbing the bathroom floor with panicked guilty expressions. They did not bob or apologize. He had them trained not to speak to him or otherwise disturb him, and they knew to stay out of his way. They vanished as suddenly as they'd come.

Then he noticed something out of place. Set prominently in the middle of the kitchen table. The sugar bowl. He was about to summon the elves back, when he realized who must have left it.

Severus leaned on the back of a kitchen chair, and stared at it, with a growing warm glow of amusement. The morning came rushing back. Harry's point was taken at once, of course. What cheek, to call one's Potions master a liar. Particularly when he was one. Severus mentally awarded ten points to Gryffindor.

His familiar quarters seemed rather echoingly empty all of the sudden. Well, Harry had been a handful while he was here, and had somehow managed to take up a lot of space and valuable time. As well as a tendency to sprawl, and take up more than his share of the bed. Severus tried to convince himself he was glad to have his privacy back, but he was too honest to fall for his own lies. 

He realized then, he was still holding the damp robe. As he touched it, it smelled faintly of that sweet outdoor musk scent that was Harry.

He summoned the house elves for dinner in his quarters. It must have looked odd to them (if they had such thoughts) to find the intimidating Severus Snape, firelight playing about the angles of his face, holding and idly stroking a wet bathrobe. 

Finis. Next: 'Eerily Yours.'


	17. Eerily Yours

Eerily Yours

by Icarus

For several days, Severus avoided Harry. The only time Harry saw him was at meals and in Potions class. After a hissed warning to 'be discreet!' Harry stopped glancing at him all the time, though it was hard to stop. He looked so different now. Severus seemed to even walk differently, to Harry's eyes at least. Harry really wondered what on earth was going on in that complicated mind. He had a feeling that the longer this went on, the less likely Harry would ever see him again. Other than in classes, of course. 

Unsurprisingly, Harry was not called to any more Dark Arts classes. Harry was relieved on the one hand. Aside from being bad at Dark Magic, he was feeling a little… bruised. Harry was sure that if a Dark Arts book floated into his room, opened itself to a page, and showed him the spell that would give him whatever he wanted most in the world: he would walk away. 

On the other hand the Dark Arts class was his only legitimate excuse to be alone with Severus. He suspected that was the real reason the class was on hold. Harry was getting annoyed with the man. And a little discouraged. 

Once a week passed, Harry began to comb his mind for discreet ways to contact Severus. So far though, he drew a blank. Hiding it from the other students didn't seem too much a problem. After peppering him with questions and being unsatisfied with answers, most of the other Gryffindors left him alone and dropped it. But Professor McGonagall suspected about the accident, Harry was sure.

"It is good to see you again. Are you well, Mr. Potter?" she asked him after Transfigurations one afternoon. Her glance was penetrating.

"Uh… um - yeah. I'm fine." Harry blushed, really hoping that glance couldn't see as much as it seemed to.

McGonagall's lips made a firm, thin line. 

"I see," she said, and dismissed him. But Harry felt her gaze lingering on his back as he walked down the corridor towards his next class.

None of his friends bought his excuses, and they seemed a little jumbled even to himself. Hermione was giving Harry some definitely odd glances. But Ron had his own suspicions, and pulled him aside later.

"It was those Dark Arts classes, wasn't it?" Ron knew him well. Harry sagged and nodded, relieved to be able to tell the truth for once. Or, well - at least part of it. 

"That stuff's bloody dangerous! Especially with Snape for a teacher. I dunno, Harry. If it gets bad - you should talk to Dumbledore." Ron nodded at his own suggestion emphatically.

That was probably the last thing Harry wanted to do.

But Ron had given him an idea. Harry began hanging back a little after Potions. If Severus didn't take advantage of that opportunity to talk to him, he was going to make some spectacular trouble in Potions class. Severus would have to give him detention. Harry had already picked out Malfoy as his target, figuring it might as well be someone who deserved it.

Then something happened to change his plans. As Harry walked back from Herbology, he felt someone brush by him. He turned, and met the black eyes of Severus Snape, looking back at him. The eyes heated for moment as they caught Harry's. Then Severus continued on as though nothing had happened. 

But later, outside the Library, Harry happened to reach into his pocket. He felt something crinkle there. A letter of some sort. On the outside it read in a flowing script:

"Please open only once you are alone."

Harry couldn't imagine why that would be, so he opened it there in the hallway. He had the immediate impression of warm lips pressed against his own, their touch long, deep and slow. There was a familiar skillful nip at the end marking the note as being from Severus. Harry caught his breath after a moment. Then he realized that Genevieve, a Ravenclaw, had just stepped out of the library. And was staring at him. Harry's lips stopped moving in empty air. A knob from a window where he had been backed up against the wall was digging into his back.

"Uh…. hi," Harry said awkwardly, trying to recover himself. She gave him an odd look as she left.

There were a few giggles when he arrived for double Potions later, and Professor Snape made an especial point to remind the class on the _importance of following directions_.

Wow. Severus certainly had a great way of sending mash notes! Harry decided he just had to learn how to do that. It was untraceable. If you didn't know whose kiss it was - first hand. Brilliant.

Later in his bedroom, Harry opened the note again, hoping it wasn't a one-shot Spell. Wonderfully, it wasn't. And it was better now that he was over the surprise and could enjoy all the subtleties. Harry spent a long time savoring it, adding embellishments to his time with Severus in his mind. He didn't realize he had drifted off to sleep, until he heard Ron come in. Harry didn't see the note still laying out on the blanket.

Ron plucked it off the bed, "what's this?" and opened it.

"Give it back - !" Harry snatched it out of Ron's hands. Too late.

"Whoa…" Ron breathed, "who's _that_ from?" 

Was Harry imagining it, or was Ron a little jealous? Harry hoped he was jealous. At least a little. He certainly deserved it. Harry glanced at Ron over the edge of the folded note. Could someone tell if they were being kissed by a man? Harry supposed not. Or at least it certainly seemed Ron couldn't.

"Who? Who is that?" Ron rolled his eyes and pleaded, "C'mon - just tell me… a little hint?"

Harry blinked. Not on his life.

"At least you _know_ who I'm seeing!"

Harry spluttered, "Oh, yeah - I sure do! First hand." Ron exploded. 

"You all think that more happened than really did!" Ron looked around cautiously. "Look, Hermione… we didn't, you know - do anything."

Harry looked at Ron quizzically. "Have you ever - you know? Done anything?"

Ron sat on the bed in silent frustration. Harry fell back into his pillow, laughing.

"Oh, Ron… I'm sorry. How long has it been? It's been months and months, hasn't it?"

Ron groaned and fell over on his side. "It's worse than you think. She waits until the last second - then she says no!"

"You should have stuck with me," Harry shook his head. He felt sorry for Ron, though he thought privately that given it was Hermione, he wasn't a bit surprised. He decided not to say so though. Ron looked frustrated enough.

"Would you like to borrow the book?" Harry offered helpfully. He felt suddenly guilty, thinking that, well, it did belong to Severus after all. He should give it back.

"I'd like to borrow whoever sent you that note!"

Harry kind of doubted that, although he had the momentary amusing image of the two of them suddenly face to face, in shock. 

"Have you - have you ever… with?" Ron motioned with his shoulder to the note.

Harry hesitated. He decided to tell Ron the truth, or as much of it as he could anyway.

"Yes."

"I'm gonna kill Hermione!" Ron pounded the pillow. "If I don't completely explode first."

"It's really not a big deal, Ron," Harry told him. But that didn't seem to help at all.

"Have you asked her what she wants?" Harry said, thoughtful, thinking of some of Severus' more embarrassing questions. Sometimes a more experienced perspective… Severus had made fun of him, declared Harry an 'incurable romantic' - until Harry pointed out his reading choices. "That's not romanticism, that is sensationalism. To that, I admit, I am incurable. A complete addict for sensation." Harry wished there were something he could send back to surprise Severus.

"She doesn't know what she wants!" Ron fumed, bringing Harry back to the present.

"Oh. Uh - yes. But I'll bet you haven't asked, have you?"

Ron must have told Hermione (of course, what didn't he tell her?), because the next day at breakfast, she pointed out: "That is a very advanced spell, Harry, to enchant a piece of paper like that. Who's it from?"

Apparently Ron had not brought up any of the more important advice Harry had given.

"Do _you_ know how to do it?" Harry was suddenly hopeful. Maybe he could at least find out where this spell came from…

"No. I mean, it's very complicated you see…."

"Oh." Harry turned aside. "That's too bad." 

Harry had really wanted to send one back. But if even Hermione couldn't do it, it was doubtful he could either. There were definite drawbacks to having a teacher for a lover. Harry ignored the rest of what Ron and Hermione had to say, trying to think of some answer to this letter. They finally gave up on holding his attention.

"He's in love," Ron said with disgust.

The torch flickered in the scull holder in Severus' office in the upstairs teachers' hall. It was very late, past ten o'clock. As usual, Severus Snape was the last to leave. Professor Sprout tended to be the morning type, while Flickwick kept odd hours. Minerva McGonagall you could set your watch by - in at eight, gone by five. Not a minute later. How she did it no one knew. Severus tended to do his paperwork here, while the side chamber to the Potions dungeon he used for his practical research, and the occasional detention victims. (Well, less than occasional. It saved him the bother of scrubbing his own cauldrons to be liberal with detentions.) Potions didn't usually mix well with anything that had to be kept clean, and that included homework, unfortunately. Not that some of these couldn't be improved by a little snail's tongue or a drop of Exploding Potion, in his opinion. 

It was handy that his scull caused any torch set in it to never go out, Severus thought, considering that he had a never-ending supply of work. Albus Dumbledore had somehow neglected to mention this was a more than full-time job when he offered it to Severus. Not that a former Death-Eater had many options at the time. 

Severus glanced over at his diminishing stack of scrolls. Good god, look at the girth of that one. It had to be from Granger. He had asked for fourteen inches, not forty-four. Did she think he had all night to be impressed by her amateur opinions on Expansion Potions? He yawned and was just deciding he wasn't going to finish these tonight, when he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye.

The door to his office slowly edged open, silently, of its own accord. Severus watched, unmoving. His wand ready. Something brushed by the right-hand corner of his desk, nearly knocking a stack of parchment onto the floor. These were quickly caught, and shoved back into place.

Well. He had a well-meaning visitor at least.

Then suddenly Severus felt a pressure against his lips, and he melted into a feverish kiss. It had the boyish enthusiasm and lack of skill he recognized instantly, even if he hadn't already caught a familiar musky outdoor scent. Then the kiss broke. And a disembodied head appeared floating in the air in front of him. Harry…. with a most winning, devilish smile. How romantic. Before Severus could think to draw him in for another kiss, he vanished. But not before saying, "Thanks for the note."

The parchment stack stirred again, but seemed to survive Harry's second passing. Then there was muffled voice, "oh, almost forgot…" and a hand with part of a sleeve appeared, and stuffed a dozen red roses into the scull.

"You need some color in here," Harry joked. 

The door closed softly behind him. Severus stared after it, bemused.

"_Cromium Decoratum!_" Severus said, pointing his wand at the roses. 

They changed to green. Far be it from him to be caught with Gryffindor colors in his office. Particularly not with the scent of a particular Gryffindor clinging about him still. Severus breathed it in, letting his head fall back. Oh. He set down the quill. His concentration was certainly ruined for the night. But he was going to have sweet dreams, that much was sure.

Finis. Next: 'Soap and Guacamole.'


	18. Soap and Guacamole

Soap and Guacamole

by Icarus

It was growing late in Severus Snape's apartments, but his attention was elsewhere, languidly stroking Harry's thighs. The muscle ran just so…. Harry leaned back on a pillow of thick bubbles. He looked both lovely and satiated. Well, he should be. Some things improved with age. 

There was no tub in these quarters, so Severus had Transformed the love seat in his living room into one. It was currently filled with multi-coloured bubbles. 

They had been turning a Magical Die Severus had picked up in a certain sleazy Knockturn Alley shop. It randomly determined what would fill the tub. They had enjoyed the thin sheet of oil until they were exhausted, then the next turn gave them… chocolate pudding. That was fun, if a little predictable. Harry had liked it. Bored with that (and maybe a little sick) they gave it another turn. Guacamole. Their eyes met with distaste - _No._ - as they sat in foul smelling green paste. There was a reason this demonic contraption could only be found in Knockturn Alley. But it was still worth it. They were down to bubbles now. Bubbles were quite pleasant. If a little garish.

Severus had lit the fire and all the black candles in the candelabra, giving the room a mysterious soft glow. The radio was set to 'the Witching Hour': current Wizarding hits, a concession to Harry's youth. Severus liked music, but preferred that the composer be long dead. The wineglasses were virtually untouched. They'd been too busy to empty them even once.

Severus checked his watch before he realized that, of course, he wasn't wearing one or anything else for that matter. He sat up out of the tub and reached for his wand to do a Quick Time-Teller Spell. Harry's eyes flicked approvingly over the wiry muscle in his arms and chest as he moved, Severus noted with a satisfied inward purr. A man should know his good points, at least nearly as well as his bad. 

"_Cronos!_" Severus flicked his wand and settled back into the tub. A tiny white fairy no bigger than his thumb appeared over the tub.

"Thank you for invoking Quick-Time! At the tone, the time will - ooo - " she squeaked, looking down at the two men tangled together in the tub below her. 

The one, long and thin, and had an unruly shock of black hair. He was putting on an owlish pair of glasses. The other, of a similar height, was slightly broader, with sharp features; his longish straight black hair fanned out on the foamy pillow. If this were a gothic painting, they were both missing their fig leaves.

" - oh! Harry Potter. My goodness… the time is - is - " she turned pink and put her tiny hands over her eyes. She peeked, and then hid her face again. 

"I think she's a little embarrassed, Severus." Harry commented. The fairy turned a slightly darker shade of pink.

Severus smirked. "Yes. I love doing this to them. Little prudes. It embarrasses the hell out of them."

" - ooo!… the time is eleven-o'clock-and-eight-minutes!" she got it all out in a rush, turned bright red and with a final glance, vanished in a tiny red flash.

"Yet they always linger that extra half-minute. I've timed it." Severus noted, tongue in cheek, looking up at the place where the Time Fairy had disappeared. "And they always look."

"She recognized me. Do you think they'd tell anyone?" Harry wondered. 

Severus made a dismissive gesture.

"Well, we have forty minutes till McGonagall checks your rooms. You had better get dressed - " Severus grabbed Harry as he started to climb out of the tub and dragged him back into the foam. " - soon. Not now."

Harry emerged from the kiss breathless, kicking foam out of the tub. 

"I can't wait till I leave school. Then we won't have to sneak around so." Harry tried to unsuccessfully wipe the foam off his glasses. He picked up the die. "I'm tired of Bubbles." 

"Be careful with that thing," Severus warned him, "I don't fancy rolling about in potato salad."

"Is there potato salad?" Harry asked, staring at the die faintly horrified.

"I got it once. But only once."

"Well, that's proof," Harry said. "The Dark Arts truly are dangerous." Harry turned it, and smiled. "Ah."

"What is it?" Severus asked with no little trepidation, sitting up. Then the bubbles cleaned themselves off, vanished, and swaths of black fabric filled the tub. 

Harry gave him a radiant smile. "Satin," he said, as he rolled and enfolded himself in the rich cool fabric.

"Sensualist. I will check that die for tampering first thing tomorrow. You have been entirely too lucky to be believed," Severus stretched. "You did not even get the glue. I always end up with glue."

"I got guacamole," Harry offered.

"_I_ turned it that time. _I_ got guacamole."

Harry had wrapped himself in the fabric until Severus could only see a pair of bright green eyes. Harry changed the subject.

"Do you think you could show me that trick… with the note?" Harry asked hesitantly.

Severus leaned on an elbow, preferring to lay on top of the fabric, thank you. 

"I could show you a great many things. Including that. But - " Severus watched Harry's eyes carefully. " - it would helpful if I had my book back."

He held Harry's eyes, slightly triumphant at the young man's sudden discomfort. Harry froze, but didn't admit a thing.

"Come, come. You are caught. Confronted. In bed. Your notes clearly disappeared at the same time. Nobody else would have taken those. Or does your _Weasley_ have it?" Harry remained silent. Severus was not sure how far that relationship went, between Weasley and his Harry. Severus sneered. "Still - you will admit nothing? Not even to me? Appalling. You ought to have been Sorted into Slytherin." 

"I almost was," Harry said.

"What?" Severus blinked. Now that was an eye-opener.

"I asked Sorting Hat not to," Harry explained.

"Yes. Well, that was probably for the best," Severus noted. "A true Slytherin would have replaced your notes with a blank scroll. Then I would never have noticed. It is what I would have done.

"- if you are going to be bad, you might as well be good at it."

"Is that why you became a Death Eater?" Harry asked suddenly. The satin slid down to his chest as he sat up.

"The best of the worst, or the worst of the best - is that it?" Severus said with acid humor.

"Yeah, I suppose."

"No." Severus was curt. "Nothing so intelligent." 

Severus rolled onto his back, not looking at Harry, and was silent for a bit. "Well congratulations, Harry. You certainly know how to kill a good party; so nice of you to remind me of old ghosts…"

"I remind you of him?"

"What - ? Him? Oh yes, your obsession with Torvald. - Is it jealousy? I would be so flattered - " Severus looked over at Harry, who had taken the opportunity to wrap himself sensually in the satin again. He was lying on his side looking up at Severus fetchingly. "No. You are nothing at all like him. Torvald… was a violent man. A puritan. German. He liked being a Death Eater. And he loved Dark Magic… even, certain aspects of it. He had an iron stomach."

"What about you?" Harry asked softly.

"I did my job. Very well. Too well in fact." Severus did not like these memories being dragged up in his bedroom. Or living room as the case may be.

"I mean Dark Magic." When Harry's eyes sparkled like that, he reminded Severus disconcertingly of Dumbledore. That wizard saw too much. Reminding him of an old man did nothing for Harry's sex appeal. Severus did not deign to answer.

"I was a fool." Severus said darkly. "I do not like being a fool."

Severus sat up. 

"Come. We must get you back to your crib, before mother McGonagall has a fit and starts randomly firing Seeking Spells."

Harry ignored Severus' jibe of course. He knew that if Severus didn't see him as a man, he wouldn't be here. 

"Well, she can't find me in your quarters. It's Warded," Harry pointed out.

"That would be the problem. A student who has just gone to the bathroom can be found."

"We still have twenty minutes," Harry complained.

"Mmm. Twenty minutes. Now what can we possibly do with twenty delicious minutes…?" 

Severus slowly unwrapped Harry from the satin like a present. Harry watched him with big eyes, delighted. Satin was fun. Harry particularly loved being stripped for some reason Severus could not figure out. He squirmed deliciously, as Severus slowly devoured him where he was already rising to the occasion. Harry started to return the compliment, but Severus put out his palm and stopped him, shaking his head. "Time. Do not start what you cannot finish." 

Frustrated, Harry sighed, "I really can't wait till we can stop sneaking around!"

"Now that's twice you've said that. Tell me. Are you really so anxious to allow your friends to know that you have suffered the lecherous advances of your decrepit Potions Master? Willingly? A man even? Such as he is," Severus asked doubtfully. Harry was not being realistic.

"Decrepit?" Harry raised his eyebrows and laughed, then stretched languorously on the satin. Severus picked up a wineglass, and handed Harry his. Harry took a sip, and then turned the stem in his hand. "Yeah, I'm really suffering…"

"Sensualist."

"Comes from living in a cupboard. Makes you appreciative of little things like - air." Harry put his chin on his knee and considered. "Well, I hadn't really thought about it too much, but it is the truth, isn't it?"

"So you would take the pointed fingers, the disdain of those who once respected and admired you, the horror of your friends - ? Not to mention baring your neck to Malfoy and his ilk, your detractors… all in the name of some obscure Truth?" Severus was astounded. 

"I take it back: You are, every inch of you, a Gryffindor." 

Severus set his glass down and gave Harry a hand up out of the tub, letting his hand slide down the pleasant curve of his bottom admiringly. 

"Do me a favor," Severus said as he watched Harry pull on his clothes, a sight in and of itself. Harry may like being undressed, but Severus had a unholy fascination with watching him dress. "Before you go off on some 'nobility jag': talk to me. I may not appreciate being doomed with you."

"You know I would," said Harry. 

True enough. 

Harry picked up his wand and some Floo powder. 

Then just before Harry stepped into the fire, a gleam of last minute mischief crossed his face. Harry suddenly leaned forward and tipped the die with his wand one more time. He disappeared into the fire with a naughty grin and a wave. With a shock Severus watched the satin disappear as it was replaced with - 

- champagne. Expensive champagne at that, by the taste of it.

"Dumb fucking luck." Severus decided he'd save some for Harry.

Finis. Next: 'Eureka!'


	19. King of Discretion

King of Discretion

by Icarus

Harry arrived in fire of the Gryffindor common room, coughing and feeling a little dizzy from the wine combined with Floo travel. He really hated traveling by Floo Powder, but he and Severus had really pushed it this time, and it was the only method fast enough. Too bad it only worked one way from the teachers' quarters. Harry somehow managed to arrive backward and so stumbled over the grate into the room. A voice cleared her throat behind him. 

"Harry, where have you been?" It was Hermione! Harry turned to find his friend, clad in a fuzzy pink bathrobe thrown over an old familiar knitted sweater with the letter 'R' on it, her hair poofed like an angry cat's. She was tapping her feet. "Professor McGonagall was just here."

What?! "She was early?!"

"Early? Harry, this is getting really weird. No one is supposed to know when the teachers are going to check on us."

Harry opened his mouth, but nothing came out. All his cool composure with the imposing Severus Snape melted away before the ire of Hermione Granger. Maybe because Severus was usually in the wrong, but Hermione almost never was.

"Harry - hurry upstairs! She'll be back any minute! I told her I thought you'd gone to the room over the Owlry," Hermione blushed. She never liked lying to the teachers, and Professor McGonagall was a favorite of hers. "Well, you could have gone there. You owe us an explanation. Tomorrow. Go!"

Harry could have kissed her. And Ron. He knew who 'us' meant.

Upstairs, Harry crept across the room between puddles of moonlight to his four poster. He slipped as quietly as he could under the covers. Then he heard Ron whisper:

"So… how was it?" There was a smile in Ron's voice.

"Worth it," Harry breathed. And it was.

Harry lay awake a long time trying to think how he was going to explain this to his friends in the morning. He had no idea. But it was a lot easier than having to explain it to Professor McGonagall. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He was going to have to tell Severus they should back off for a while until this cleared. Severus was always saying they had to be discreet. It was his career at stake after all.

Ron didn't even wait for Harry to reach the main hall for breakfast, but cornered him outside the entranceway. Hermione was right behind him. Harry suppressed a moment of envy, that they could be open about being together. Judging from how close Ron was standing to her, Harry suddenly suspected things were going a little bit better for him. They both had their arms folded, glaring at Harry, though Ron looked very curious.

They ducked as owls flew in through the doorways and windows about them. Harry could see Hedwig looking for at the breakfast table, puzzled he wasn't in his usual spot. She finally dropped his letters at his empty plate. One of them was smoking. Uh-oh. He'd better get that one, quickly.

"Well?" Hermione asked.

"I - I don't know how to explain…" Harry said in all honesty, thinking fast. He had not been able to contrive any plan the night before. The situation was impossible.

"Okay. Just to start with - _who is it_?" Ron suggested with a helpful smile, leaning against the brick wall.

"I can't tell you that!" Harry said desperately. 

Ron rolled his eyes muttering "… you mean you won't. Don't you trust me? Us? We've been your friends forever!" He seemed hurt.

"No, Ron, Hermione - honest, I can't. I promised. He - " Harry stopped. He was already in trouble, after only three sentences. But he couldn't lie to his friends! 

"He?" Ron asked, incredulous. Hermione gave Ron a knowing nod, and Ron threw up his hands, saying, "Alright, alright Hermione, you were right. This is starting to make a bit more sense anyway. So, Harry, who - who is…uh… _he_?" Ron seemed a little awkward at the idea.

"Ron, if it were _you_, would you want me to tell?" More to the point, _when_ it was him, had Ron wanted him to tell? No sir.

"Uh…" Ron was clearly thinking back to the Book of Eros. And the room above the Owlry. And Hagrid's house. And the night everyone was gone to Hogsmeade. And the other time… "No. Not really. In fact - you'd better not!"

"Well then…" Harry was ready for breakfast. That letter looked like it was about to catch the tablecloth on fire.

"That doesn't do it, Harry," Hermione stopped him. "That doesn't explain the spell on that paper… and you knowing when Professor McGonagall was going to come check on us… and, oh, a whole bunch of things. Harry, if… if you're seeing a teacher, you could get into really big trouble."

"A _teacher_?!" Think fast, Harry, think fast! Harry scrambled.

"Who would it be?" Harry asked her, his mind racing a mile a minute.

"Professor Flickwick?" Harry asked incredulously. 

Ron snickered.

"Dumbledore?" Harry suggested, feeling a little more confident. 

"_Hagrid??_"

Ron started laughing. "Oh - Hagrid - stop, stop, please, you're killing me…"

Harry decided to risk it: "_S…Snape?!_"

At that thought Ron dissolved into hysterical giggles. "Snape?? Ick. You'd have to wash him first!"

Harry heart was pounding in his chest. 

When Ron finally stopped laughing and wiped the tears out of his eyes, he pointed out, "You know, that's always been the major hole in your theory, Hermione. Who could it be after all?"

Hermione gave up. "Okay. I see your point. But Harry - well, never mind. You know to be careful."

Harry staggered into the hall, feeling like his life had just dangled over a chasm and he had narrowly survived. Or he just completed a full dive on his Firebolt and found the ground closer than he expected. His stomach felt hollow. He had almost called him Severus. Instead of Snape. Out of sheer habit. 

Harry had nearly blown it all. In one word. 

He very carefully did not look at Severus this morning. Things had to go back to normal for a while. Discretion, Severus called it? Harry was going to be the king of discretion, from here on out. 

Harry decided not to tell Severus everything. He would be too pissed off and sarcastic at Harry's near stupidity and Harry didn't want to hear it. So after Care of Magical Creatures, Harry slipped downstairs during the lunch hour. He found the Potions dungeon empty. He picked up a piece of chalk, and wrote his message to Severus on the blackboard. Then erased it. Harry put the eraser in the middle of Severus' desk, so he'd know to look for the message. 

__

Yipe! McG. early! Everything's okay, but being careful. XXX Harry

They never used the same form of communication twice, some habit or so from Severus' days as a Death Eater. Harry had thought it paranoid before, but now he appreciated Severus' caution. Though usually it had been easier just to talk during Harry's Dark Arts class. 

In the Dark Arts they had returned to 'simple' spells. Harry was as much of a dud as ever. But now being a dud at Dark Magic was a matter of routine, and Harry made no particular effort to do any better: he found it comforting to know he would never go any further in Dark Magic. Harry never asked what that quicksilver stuff was, and Severus had never told him. In fact, 'the accident' was a subject they both preferred to avoid.

The next morning, Harry stepped out of the showers wrapped in a towel, drying his unruly hair. He stopped at the mirror, though it was as usual, completely steamed up. Then he saw one word write itself in the steam: 

__

Discretion.

Harry nodded. Good. Severus found his message. Then the writing went on: 

__

Towel - I like you better without it. 

Severus was just teasing him, knowing he'd be in a towel right now. He couldn't see him. Harry was almost positive about that. Several Gryffindors came out of the showers behind Harry, laughing and joking. Harry wiped the letters clean. 

In the freshly cleared mirror, Harry saw someone who was slightly taller than he had been; his hair was a little longer. He had the same scar. But his eyes were serious, determined. Harry saw there, to his surprise, a grown man.

Finis. Next: 'Eureka!'


	20. Eureka!

Eureka!

by Icarus

"I had to call a special session of our Dark Arts class, just to see you. You have been remarkably absent lately."

It wasn't entirely fair of Severus. He insisted on discretion and now complained about the results. The voice was cool, calm, but the feelings behind it weren't.

"Could it be a _Weasley_ is taking more of your time?" Severus snarled.

Harry could think of safer things than being in the Forbidden Forest, alone, with a jealous and unreasoning Snape armed to the teeth with Dark Magic. And permission to use it. No one would come to Harry's aid, assuming naturally any explosion of Dark Magic was part of their class.

Harry took a step backwards, while Snape slowly circled him menacingly, his black cloak catching the light breeze. As a Death-Eater he must have been terrifying, the hysterical thought flew through Harry's mind. Then Harry recalled Hagrid telling them in Care of Magical Creatures: "Running from a wild creature is about the worst thing you can do." 

So Harry took a step closer; and, tentatively, when Snape halted, another; speaking softly in the cooing voice one used with the most violent Manticores, not even listening to himself: 

"Look… you have completely misunderstood me… I'm not avoiding you… I'm only being careful. You asked, remember? Ron is with Hermione… You know that…"

Eventually he stood right beside Snape, who eyed him suspiciously still. With the sharp angular face, lank long hair and curled lip, he looked feral. But he had lowered his wand. Reason seemed to have returned to his eyes, though that dangerous cold anger still flickered.

Then Harry said in his natural voice, "Talk over dinner? Here - it's like throwing a dungbomb in Filch's office. I can't invite you to my place…"

Severus looked relieved and the tension broke. "Seven. My quarters. Password's _Perehelion_. I changed it when I thought…." his voice was somewhat ragged.

"You're far too suspicious," Harry marveled. 

Snape nodded almost imperceptibly, and said quietly, "Don't be late."

Harry finally breathed a sigh of relief. 

Who would have thought Care of Magical Creatures - better termed Care of _Dangerous_ Magical Creatures - would apply to Severus Snape? But on second thought Harry considered, it made perfect sense. He wished he could tell Hagrid his class had likely saved his neck.

"Shall we continue? With our class." Snape offered.

Harry nodded weakly against his will, with a distant sense of disbelief. His nerves still jangled with adrenaline shock and fear. Severus must have ice water in his veins, to be so calm and able to go on readily after all that. 

Severus set a tiny glass unicorn on the rock. It pawed with little hooves, and tossed its mane. It was cute. Harry barely listened as Severus began to explain, in great detail, the Nova Incendiero spell, which was a variation on the simple ordinary Fire Bomb….

An hour later, the glass unicorn was in perfect health, trotting in happy circles on the rock. Snape had long since given up worrying about the fate of their table. No doubt it would remain intact till the end of this age. Harry was as hopeless, as ineffectual, as ever. Severus leaned back against a tree with a sigh. He thought Potions was bad. As he watched, Harry's spell-casting form fell completely apart in frustration, exhaustion and anger, a first year's mistake. This was all Dumbledore's fault. They should be learning this from day one. Harry kept at it with renewed fury. Snape couldn't help but admire Harry's lithe gesture, even though he had it all wrong. Again. Dammit.

"Harry - " he shook his head and began to correct him…

Harry turned, a look of passionate frustration on his face, one that said "Shut Up" as clearly as if he'd spoken it. He looked as though he would gladly turn this spell on Severus, if only it would work. And… something else…

It had been too long. Never mind their date. "You've earned a break…" 

"_Expelliarmus!_" Severus disarmed Harry as he approached, tossing aside his own wand as he captured the heat of Harry's face in his hands. His cape slid to the ground between them. But Harry had beaten him to the kiss, fervently, with a stream of invectives nearly unintelligible between breaths. 

"You bloody crazy son of a bitch, you bastard -" then Harry pulled out of the kiss and pushed him, then shoved Severus again. " - scared the shit out of me!" 

His eyes were blazing and intense, passionate. Severus let him take it all out, laughing a bit, startled at Harry's fury. Though there was no doubt that he deserved it. Of course he did. It was unlike Harry, but Severus had pushed him too far, frightened him, then worked him to the bone.

"You want discretion - then you blame me…! I thought - !" 

Then Harry pulled Severus back into the renewed kiss, and the rest of whatever else he had to say was lost, as they devoured each other. They struggled to remove their robes without letting go or interrupting. 

Harry spun Severus around, dragging him down to the ground, and he was having much more success getting both their robes undone. Severus became suddenly aware of their surroundings. He'd never done this before in a place so… public, and felt a momentary thrill of alarm. Then he recalled his magical 'traps' and 'surprises,' and laid back to enjoy this in more privacy than he could ever find at home. Harry's shirt was off, revealing smooth skin he was tempted to devour. Severus' hands slid to his waist, his achingly narrow hips, while Harry did something marvelous with his teeth, and they were both finding it gaspingly impossible to get any closer. Though, oh, he tried. Harry learned quickly when it came to Quidditch, or this… anything physical perhaps. 

"Now I have a thing or two to teach you…" Severus murmured, and he turned Harry over, licking the entryway with practiced skill and passionate intensity.

They ignored how late the hour was, letting the breeze tickle their cool skin. Other than the rocks he had tossed aside, Severus thought he could get used to this out of doors. Severus turned to Harry and caressed his neck and chin with his lips, whispering in a low voice: "stay with me tonight… no one will notice… I'm sure I can think of some excuse…" Harry just moaned sleepily. He didn't seem to mind or even to notice the rocks.

Severus thought Harry was asleep, when he caught the glimmer of green eyes smiling up at him in the half-light, not quite focusing without the glasses. Harry's hand carelessly traced the line of his cheekbone, caressed the silk of the long black hair Severus was so proud of, outlined the shape of his lips; Severus stroked his chest gently and circled the silk of his nipple. Harry's breathing caught. He reveals everything, Severus noted. Perhaps unwisely, but he liked it. Severus inwardly laughed at himself, cynical. So nice to discover you like the ones you fuck, he thought.

The unicorn on the rock above them started a cheerful, and slightly annoying, tinkling trot. Professor Snape's eyes lingered on it a moment, calculating, recalled sharply to the present. And the problem at hand.

Severus' hands slid down past Harry's waist, but Harry was already ready, prodding up eagerly into his hands. Ah, the young, how do they do it? He drew close and whispered in Harry's ear as he fondled him: 

"Listen to me. I know you don't like to destroy…" 

Harry started. Surely Harry didn't think that Severus Snape didn't know him, most intimately, by now? He was a cautious man. He studied people carefully before he brought them to his bed. As soon as he learned of Harry and Ron, he knew lack of options would likely lead Harry here. Though he hoped there was more to it than that. He feared probably not.

"Yes, I know…" he started to stroke Harry expertly, setting aside his own suddenly insistent pleasure to give all his attention to Harry -

"The Dark Magic… is like this, this passion…" Harry's breathing started to come raggedly, he was very close -

"You are so close to it, Harry…" Harry writhed slightly, he was very near the cusp -

"And then you do this - "

Snape let go.

"I don't know how you can bear it, Harry."

Harry raised up on his elbows, his pale chest rising and falling. Two green eyes blinked and stared at Snape in the twilight. Professor Snape tossed his hair. Strange, to be in this role of teacher, with your student's naked thigh pressed so temptingly against your own. But he saw the lesson sink in.

Perhaps an old murdering Death Eater could teach after all, Severus thought to himself. Wouldn't that be a miracle.

At their next class, Harry set the dainty glass unicorn on the rock. It blinked innocently up at him, nuzzling his hand a little and flicking its tail.

Harry backed away.

Then he gestured, recited the summoning incantation, and swung his wand as though he were throwing it: 

"_Novus Incendio!_" 

There was a brilliant blinding blaze of light, like a purple fireball, too bright to look at - they both flinched away in the same moment. Snape slowly dropped his hands. Harry stared, in dumbfounded shock.

The rock was badly blackened and damaged; the top looked like a cinder. All that was left of the little unicorn, was a thin piece of slag. 

Severus leaped up and grabbed Harry in a vise-like hug, twirling him around and ruffling his hair. He was almost laughing - lecturing a mile a minute - emphatic and gesturing at various points, then he seized Harry again by both shoulders:

"You did it, Harry! You have it! I finally taught you. Dumbledore will have to start a Dark Arts class now! Makes me wonder if there's hope even for Longbottom… no, no, probably not - !" He gave Harry a firm kiss on the cheek and squeezed him again. "See? Now that wasn't so hard, was it? Let me get you something, anything you like!"

Harry didn't hear a word of it. He felt a little like he was in a dream. He wiped his nose and stared at that little bit of slag. 

He missed that unicorn.

Finis. Next: 'Fools' Victory.'


	21. Fools' Victory

Fools' Victory

by Icarus

Snape took Harry to Hogsmeade, seemingly uncaring of appearances in his victorious moment. Harry hadn't realized he even knew what Hogsmeade was. He'd never seen him there. Students (fortunately there weren't many) who saw the two of them together blinked. Then stared after them, nudging each other with disbelief. Though if Harry knew it, he looked suitably glum for one accompanied by a happy Snape. Severus took no notice of his mood.

They sipped mugs of butterbeer and something quite a bit stronger for Severus, as Severus rattled on about various things Harry didn't quite listen to. He only nodded and murmured where it appeared to be required, wrapped in his own thoughts. He felt uncomfortable and none too good about his so-called 'success' in the Dark Arts.

"Just wait till I tell Dumbledore," Severus purred, eyes looking a little bleary after the fifth of whatever it was he was drinking. After a few more, he ordered some for Harry. Esmerelda gave them a quizzical look as Harry waved her away. 

"You're not celebrating," he scolded Harry finally, somehow more aware of Harry's mood with the fading of his conscious mind. 

Harry reminded Severus under his breath that it was not really appropriate and he'd really rather not. Severus scoffed. What was wrong with Harry? They'd shared everything else - why not a drink or two to celebrate? Harry shushed him desperately before he could flesh out the rest of that thought, looking about to see who else had heard. A couple of warlocks glanced up, but seemed only annoyed at the interruption. Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

Harry took a casual sip of Severus' drink to shut him up. It was awful stuff, how could Severus drink this? It was brackish and burned the back of Harry's throat. And it was definitely potent. How many had he had?

Somehow, a concept that they had to fool people to give Harry drinks penetrated Severus' mind, and it pleased him immensely. In this state he had an almost child-like love of sneakiness. He ordered several more drinks and gleefully passed them to Harry under the table. He gave Esmerelda a lolling, relaxed smirk as he did this. It was rather playful and silly, and Harry played along. It was anyone's guess whether Esmerelda noticed, or if she was playing along as well.

Harry liked some of the other beverages Severus tried on him. Severus helped himself to these as well, "Tax," he called it smoothly. But Harry thought he would like getting drunk with Severus a lot better if hadn't come to a conclusion. 

He could not do any more Dark Arts.

Several hours later, Esmerelda floated stools up onto the table and glared at the two of them, her last patrons to leave. A grumpy gnome picked up Harry's feet and swept underneath him. He was unable to budge Severus, who gave him a dangerous glance and ordered another round. Harry stuffed his last glass in Severus' hand instead, and somehow managed to convince Severus to pay the tab and drape his arm over his shoulder. 

Outside Harry was dizzy. The world seemed to be glowing a little about the edges, and his sense of reality was distant, suspended. It was worse than the love potion. But at least Harry could stand, which was more than he could say for Severus, whose weight dragged Harry persistently to the left. Harry wondered if the Knight Bus did short trips. How was he going to get him back to Hogwarts? Unfortunately the sweet shop was closed, though Harry wasn't sure he wanted Severus to know that route anyway. 

Then he recalled the twenty-four hour Floo station, by the Owl Post. It was probably the worst way to travel Harry could imagine, if one were drunk. But it was all he could find at this hour. Sure enough, it had a stop in Hogwarts' main hall. 

The portly wizard on the night shift was very helpful. Seeing their condition he jumped up to help support Severus' weight, and blew the Floo powder into the wide fireplace for them. Harry wasn't sure of the effects of alcohol breath on volatile Floo powder, and thought it best not to experiment.

"Can we fit two?" Harry asked, "I don't think he'll end up on the right place if we put him in there alone."

"Well, you still have to pay for the two, mind, but as long as the destination grate is large enough, sure," he chuckled. "You're not the first to stagger out of Rosmerta's at this hour. Though I don't envy you traveling by Floo powder. You shoulda bought a Knight's Pass if you were gonna make a night of it." 

Harry didn't know what a 'Knight's Pass' was, but his mind wasn't holding information well at the moment in any case, so he didn't ask.

Harry held onto Severus tightly about the chest and shoulders, and enunciated, slowly, clearly, and as carefully as he could: "Hogwarts." 

The sickening spin knocked him off center. He couldn't see well and his head felt stuffed. He saw among the whirl of ash different houses, a sleeping grandmother witch by the fire, a couple kissing on their couch, then he caught a glimpse of the Hogwarts main hall. He threw himself and Severus onto the floor before it disappeared, hoping he hadn't missed. Harry's stomach protested and reeled, but he managed to keep it down out of pure fear of Filch. Severus moaned, and crawled forward a few steps, before curling up on the floor.

Harry lay sprawled for a moment, as the room swung about him. He found himself staring up at a suit of armor, then, further up, a tapestry swam into view with the Hogwarts seal. They had made it. 

"C'mon, Severus, get up, please!" Harry whispered. But Severus curled up like a cat on the floor and was determined to go to sleep. He growled 'no' and stubbornly refused to get up as Harry pulled on his arm, and prodded him. Harry hoped Peeves wouldn't make appearance. He would love this. Then Harry heard a bustling sound behind him. Oh no…

"Severus?" Professor Flickwick said, astonished. He was dressed in a nightcap and dressing gown, floating a candle over his head. He turned it into several candles, which surrounded Severus, to throw more light on the scene. 

"My… my goodness. Oh, Harry let me help you there. I've never seen him like this before…"

All in all, Harry was grateful for his help. Professor Flickwick put a lightness spell on Severus, and between the two of them, they managed to get him to the entryway his quarters. If Professor Flickwick noticed the smell of alcohol on Harry's breath, he didn't say anything. Harry blearily hoped he would attribute it to Floo powder. Or something.

"_Perehelion._" Harry gave the password. 

Belatedly, he worried and hoped Professor Flickwick wouldn't wonder how Harry knew the secret password to Severus' private rooms. Upstairs, he kicked and held the door open with his foot. 

In Severus' bedroom, they stripped him down to his undershirt. Severus looked Harry's age when he was sleepy, softer, somehow. Then Harry vaguely recalled he ought to have hidden the fact he knew the route to the bedroom. Had he marched directly to it? He had, hadn't he? Oh no… Being drunk was not good for quick-thinking, Harry decided fuzzily. As Harry began to leave, Severus stirred, stretching languidly.

"Harry… stay with me tonight, my dear, sweet…" he moaned and rolled over.

Professor Flickwick blinked at Professor Snape nervously, slightly shocked.

Harry extinguished the torches with a spell. Quickly. Before Professor Flickwick could see his face.

When he woke the next morning - and it was late the next morning - Harry's head felt like the inside of an old shoe. A very grubby old shoe. There was no one about the Gryffindor bedroom. By the angle of the too-bright sun he figured it to be near lunch time. He considered getting a Pepper-Up potion from Madame Pomfrey, and dismissed the idea immediately. How would he explain why he needed it? So he suffered, and eventually dragged himself out of bed to dress. 

Downstairs, the Gryffindor common room was abuzz. It fell silent, blessedly silent, when they saw Harry. Harry stood hunched with his hands in his pockets, feeling something like a human ashtray, wondering vaguely how Severus was holding up. He said he had a cast-iron stomach. Now it was time to prove it. It took Harry a bleary moment to realize the Gryffindors were all staring at him, very strangely.

Ron hopped up, showing an agility and speed that boggled Harry in this state, and he asked far too loudly, "Harry, you smelled like a brewery last night! - where'd you get it?"

"Did you go to Hogsmeade? With Snape?" interrupted Hermione, bringing it to the more vital, important point. She stood with her arms crossed. The other Gryffindors, even first years he didn't know that well, stared and waited.

Oh no. This was it. The end. His whole affair with Severus Snape was known by all of Gryffindor. And probably all Hogwarts, too, by now. He was going to be expelled. Severus would surely be dismissed, in disgrace. Harry thought the humiliation would bother him more than losing his job. Though former Death Eaters had trouble finding jobs. It suddenly looked, from this perspective, a little sordid of both of them. Though it had felt great at the time. Been great. 

Harry nodded. There was no point in denying what everyone obviously already knew. 

"Did he - did he..?" Hermione tried to ask.

Make a pass at me? Yes, Harry thought. Kiss me? Oh, more than that.

" - say you did good on a test?" Hermione finished.

The room was shocked into silence. Even the Gryffindors who hadn't already heard of it. Professor Snape. Archenemy of Gryffindor. Head of Slytherin. And hater of Harry in every particular… the man who had given Harry more detention this year than Fred and George had ever seen… Snape had complimented him. In front of a pub full of witnesses. Harry's silence confirmed it.

"I don't believe it!" said Ron.

Harry couldn't believe it either.

Harry picked at his lunch, unable to summon an appetite, noticing Severus had not made an appearance. Though he often preferred to eat alone, Harry told himself. His eyes felt dry and prickly, and his head ached. But what if the teachers had learned something? They couldn't be as thick as everyone else. Professor Dumbledore, they said, knew everything that happened at Hogwarts, and Harry didn't know why he never thought of it before. And Professor Flickwick - surely he had reason to be suspicious. Harry berated himself for his carelessness last night, torturing himself by reviewing his each and every mistake, one by one. How obvious it had been! 

The tables vanished to the left and right of Harry as they were banished to be cleaned, Professor Flickwick stopped Harry on his way out, motioning him aside with a quick bird-like gesture. Harry had that sinking feeling again. He was going to be reprimanded for drinking, at least. Then there were going to be questions. Flickwick had noticed.

"Last night," Professor Flickwick began, rather nervously licking his lips as Harry stiffened, "what Professor Snape said… he… he was drunk. You do realize he didn't mean those things?"

Harry nodded dumbly.

"He has some well, eccentricities. But he's fine teacher, a decent… er… a good… well… anyway, he knows his subject very well." Professor Flickwick continued, wringing his tiny hands. "Quite frankly, I have never seen him like this. He doesn't touch the stuff usually, not even for a friendly glass. Well, friendly doesn't describe Severus in any circumstance but…" he sighed, "oh, it is so embarrassing for Hogwarts, to have a Professor seen in such a state! You're a good lad for bringing him home."

Harry couldn't believe their good luck.

Harry sincerely hoped Severus was okay. That afternoon he finally managed to slip off from his friends with a murmured excuse, and he made his way cautiously to the closet panel in the third dungeon: "_Perehelion._"

Climbing the long steps, Harry came to the door to Severus' apartments. He had barely knocked when the door flung open. 

Severus stood, half-dressed in his nightshirt, his normally smooth hair in disarray. It was a curiously vulnerable moment. He stared at Harry an instant, his guards completely down: off-balance, raw, intense and emotional. This was Severus, Harry recognized with a slight shock of insight. Then the familiar self-possession and sarcasm returned, and Severus said:

"Fool, what are you doing here? What if someone seeks you with a Locator Charm? Well, don't run now! - come in. Quickly. At the least I have more Wards inside than out."

He didn't wait for an answer but dragged Harry into the front hallway by the arm. Severus' quarters were as cold as ever, though his hand was unusually hot. He released Harry, leaned back against the wall and ran his hands through his hair. He sighed. 

"What happened? I fear the worst. Professor Flickwick… he left me a note." Severus dismally produced a green piece of parchment and shook it. It spoke, in a stiff version of Flickwick's voice:

"Severus, we need to speak tomorrow. When you're… ah… able."

"That's it," Severus noted, "normally he rambles. Endlessly. At least McGonagall knows how to get to the point."

"It's all right," Harry urged him, and he explained what Flickwick had said at lunch, leading Severus to the living room. The fire was unlit, no wonder it was so blazing cold in there. Harry lit the fire with a wave, and described the Gryffindor reaction as well. Severus looked at him, disbelieving.

"I begin to see why Lord Voldemort can't manage to touch you." 

Severus sank into a black leather chair, stroking his lower lip thoughtfully with a knuckle. He looked slightly rumpled, but still managed to be elegant, Harry noticed. He liked the combination. It was the way he looked after sex. 

"You have the most extraordinary, improbable dumb luck."

"Not enough luck to avoid a hangover," Harry groaned, "I've been sick all day..."

"I do seem bent on corrupting you. There's a Pepper-Up Potion in the bath - take only half. It is stronger than what's technically legal. I brew my own."

"You're a law onto yourself, Severus," Harry admired with raised eyebrows. "Fred and George would be proud."

"Fred and George would get caught," Severus observed caustically.

Harry returned with the bottle, and shook his head and blinked as the fire rushed through him. He felt immediately better. He waved away the smoke and handed the other half to Severus.

"Have I succeeded?" Severus asked curiously, glancing up at Harry before taking a sip.

"What?"

"In corrupting you?" He had a look of playful malice.

"Oh - oh yeah," Harry grinned down at him with a startled laugh. 

But he felt slightly troubled, suddenly, as he thought of the Dark Arts class. Recent events had pushed it out of his mind. He didn't know what to do about that.

"Good. Don't come here again, Harry. Don't press your luck."

Over the next few days, the matter quieted down. Harry learned nothing about what conspired between Professor Flickwick and Professor Snape. Severus avoided all contact with Harry, except to take points from Gryffindor, and things seemed to return to normal, in a dismally depressing kind of way. Unlike other times, when there had still been glances, or notes, or other subtle forms of communication, this was a complete shut out. With no end in sight. It was rather a let down, after how exciting and strange life had become once he got to know Severus, to be just another student again. It gave Harry more time to devote to preparing for exams, but somehow he didn't have the heart for it. He missed Severus. Harry hoped this wouldn't go on forever, and tried not to stare after his Professor like a "lovesick puppy" as he could almost hear Severus saying. 

But there was one benefit. Thankfully there seemed to be a lull in Harry's Dark Arts classes once again. They weighed on him. Any day now, Severus would call him to their next class. While Harry eagerly looked forward to an excuse to be alone with him, he couldn't bring himself to even imagine doing Dark Magic, ever again. Harry worried at the problem in his mind, and finally decided to talk to Dumbledore. Leaving out, of course, the um… personal stuff. 

Harry thought it only right he should tell Severus first, and he steeled himself for _that_ conversation. But at this rate, there didn't seem likely to be a chance. At least not before the next class. After Harry's last experience with Severus' temper, he thought he'd better not risk having that conversation in the Forbidden Forest. Or it may be his last.

It was a complete shock to Harry when Severus, in front of the entire school at dinner, sternly ordered him to the front of the room. 

"Potter. Come here," he said in his most disdainful voice. 

Harry stood up in confusion. His classmates stared after him as he approached the teachers' table. Severus lead him aside to the wide entryway farthest from the Slytherin table, out of earshot, though still in clear sight of the curious. Heads bent in their direction, with smirks, shock, and looks of sympathy. Depending on which table and who was looking.

"Harry, look frightened - oh good, you already do. That saves time." Severus folded his arms.

"I'm going to scold you, Harry, in front of the entire school. Frowning would be much easier if I didn't desperately want to kiss you right now - Don't look happy! Look at the floor! Yes, that's how you usually do it. I'm being a horrible bastard, aren't I, so unfair to dress down the one who helped the old drunk the other night. Try to look a little angry if you can manage it." 

Harry looked up at Severus with what he hoped was a nasty glare, though he was rather caught off-balance. Severus rolled his eyes slightly. 

"That is not at _all_ angry, it is positively sexy - well then, stare at the floor if you can't manage it. I'm going to dismiss and ignore you in a moment. Appear shocked at the count of... three... two... one. Ah, here comes Minerva, defender of Gryffindor, right on schedule - too late for your virginity, I fear - now go!" 

Harry realized there was going to be no other chance, swallowed and firmed his resolve. 

"Severus - I'm going to tell Dumbledore."

Severus stopped cold. The blood drained from his face.

"About the class. The accident. I can't… I can't do it. I can't do Dark Magic any more."

Severus' composure was admirable. Not a muscle twitched in his face, as he said, ever so softly:

"I don't ever want to see you again, Harry." 

Then he turned and stalked from the room, his dark cloak sweeping the floor like a black cloud behind him. Minerva McGonagall stopped her approach and watched him leave, her expression slightly miffed and puzzled.

The Gryffindor table applauded Harry and cheered as he returned, pounding his back, celebrating a Gryffindor victory over the head of Slytherin. Colin Creevy even offered Harry his dessert.

"All right, Harry! You got one on Snape - !"

"Faced him down - "

"We've never seen him do that!"

"Serves him right! After all those detentions - !"

Harry felt sick. He ached and wanted to crawl into bed. He had known of course that Severus would be angry. But he had expected, somehow, that he would understand. At least. The glee of his classmates only made it hurt worse. He excused himself early from dinner. He didn't notice Hermione's eyes on him as he left.

He found himself filtering his way through the hallways, looking back to see that no one followed him. The noisy voices in the lunchroom disappeared behind him. He realized then where he was going, and picked up his pace. He arrived at the third dungeon. Somehow, it felt like it had been an age since he'd been this way, though it had only been a matter of a few days. 

He found the panel at the back of closet, looking the same as ever. He said the password: "_Perehelion._"

Nothing happened. Severus had already changed it.

Finis. Next: 'Defense Against the Dark Arts.'


	22. Defence Against the Dark Arts

Disclaimer: Hi guys. First I want to warn you that this chapter is in very rough form, more so than any other. It was simply too cruel not to move the story forward given where it ended in the previous chapter. If this chapter changes drastically in an update, don't say I didn't warn you. It is a very 'talk-y' chapter, and that is a fact that is most likely to change. Happy Thanksgiving, all you Americans. - Icarus.

Defence Against the Dark Arts

by Icarus

Harry left messages for Severus through every means he and Severus had devised. He wrote on the chalkboard in the Potions dungeon and erased it. On his return the next day, he pulled out the eraser and did the Reveal Spell. He found a response that made little sense to him. Severus had written out the lyrics to some song called 'God Save the Queen' by a 70's group, written in dark angry letters, and signed it Sid Vicious. Who was that? Sometimes their age difference really did show.

Harry Spelled a note and slipped it under the door to Severus' rooms. Harry heard a slicing sound as it went under and winced. He was glad he hadn't accidentally let a finger go under the door. It was a Guillotine Spell. The note blew back to Harry, in two cleanly cut pieces. Of course Severus' Spell was razor sharp. It would be.

He tried writing in the steam in the mirror. His hand came away covered in charcoal. He wiped the mirror, and a black smear coated it. Harry wound up cleaning the mirror for over an hour, before he finally gave up. It only got dirtier. Harry slipped out of the bathroom, anxiously hoping Filch would never guess who messed up his mirror. 

Then Harry slipped a note into a book, in their usual spot in the library. The note sizzled and burned to ash the moment Harry put it in. Wha - ? Then Harry looked at the title. Severus had switched their usual book for one on Acid Concoctions, and put a Confounding Spell on top of it so Madam Pince wouldn't move it back where it belonged. Harry threw up his hands. Every move he made, Severus was one step ahead. 

The next morning, Harry glumly ate his tasteless breakfast. The morning mail fluttered down to his plate, more brightly colored advertisements as usual. Harry held out his arm to Hedwig and fed her a tidbit off his plate. Then he heard Hermione gasp.

"Harry, you'd better open that - quick." What he had mistaken for another advertisement was a red envelope. A Howler.

Harry tore it open wondering who it was from. Severus would hardly announce… but he had his answer. The voice of a house elf filled the breakfast hall. Ron put his hands over his ears and ducked his head under the table, though Harry was too surprised to be quick enough. The voice was painfully shrill:

"DON'T YOU THINK YOU HAVE DONE ENOUGH? ARE YOU NOT SATISFIED WITH THE DAMAGE?! STOP HARRASSING ME! END YOUR RECKLESS AND POINTLESS PURSUIT! IMMEDIATELY!"

The letter burst into flames and the ashes dropped into Harry's breakfast. Oh well. He wasn't hungry anyway. Then there came a snigger from the Slytherin table.

"Hey, Potter. Shagged any house elves lately?" Draco smiled evilly. "You must be pretty small."

The rest of the Slytherins burst into hysterical laughter.

"I guess that explains what you did with our house elf," Draco added. Goyle sprayed milk all over the table as the rest of the table erupted in a guffaw.

"Don't listen to them," Hermione urged, as Ron ducked back from under the table. "Harry, a house elf would never send a Howler. Who could make them?"

Harry glanced up at the teachers' table. But of course it was breakfast, and Severus was never there for breakfast.

Harry thought Severus' attitude might make this easier. Or at least a little. But when Harry stood outside the gargoyle to Dumbledore's office, his heart was a heavy as lead. Perhaps… he didn't have to tell Dumbledore about the accident. Maybe he could convince Dumbledore to end the Dark Arts classes some other way. Harry was already not going to tell him everything. Perhaps, somehow…

As Harry stood waiting for his appointment with Professor Dumbledore, the passageway opened of its own accord. A familiar figure emerged. He was on his way out. Their eyes met briefly. 

Severus did not look angry or resentful. Just spent. Resigned. He walked more softly than was his wont, and he left without a backward glance. His shoulders were neither stiff nor proud and he seemed quieter than usual, though he always walked almost silently. Harry watched him, unable to speak, knowing Severus was aware of what he was here to do: end Severus' dream of starting a Dark Arts class at Hogwarts, teaching what he really loved far more than Potions. End his last hope of ever getting the Defence Against the Dark Arts position he had coveted for so long. Consign him permanently to the Potions dungeon, with a black mark on his record, to go along with the already long list of black marks from his being a Death Eater. Humiliate him. And possibility cost Severus the trust of the one man who had believed in him. Perhaps ever. That last was the worst, Harry thought. 

Harry knew exactly what he was doing to Severus. He didn't blame him for being angry. Not a bit. But the classes, they just could not go on.

Harry was still thinking of alternative ways he could end the Dark Arts classes when he stepped into Dumbledore's office. Various silver instruments turned at Harry's approach, and followed him as he crossed the room. Professor Albus Dumbledore was already seated behind his desk. His head lifted expectantly. 

"Ah. Harry. It good to see you again. I trust you are well?" Albus Dumbledore said kindly, his gentle eyes sparkling behind his spectacles. He seemed to know or guess that Harry came on an unusually important matter, as he didn't interrupt Harry's thoughts with his usual offer of candy or tea. Instead he simply waited patiently for Harry to speak.

"Uh. Yes. I suppose so," Harry couldn't keep his eyes off the floor. The silence stretched on, not uncomfortably, but for what seemed a very long time. Dumbledore's face remained patient, as Harry struggled for words.

"I, uh, can't do the Dark Arts classes. Not anymore," Harry finally said, glad it was finally out.

"Why is that, Harry?" asked Professor Dumbledore softly.

"Um. I… " Harry was finding this even more difficult than he imagined, "I'm really not any good at it."

Even as he said it, Harry knew it sounded ridiculous. But Dumbledore nodded knowingly.

"We all must face things we are not good at, Harry. Why, look at me - I am the most terrible typist. One finger. That's all I can do," Dumbledore smiled. "But still, typing must be done somehow. Just because it's not what I'm best at doesn't mean I can avoid it."

Harry couldn't think of a single circumstance where Professor Dumbledore would need to type. But that was beside the point.

"Harry, the year is nearly over," Dumbledore said, gesturing vaguely. "Could there be any other reason you cannot do the Dark Arts classes anymore?"

Harry sighed. There was no way to avoid telling him what had happened.

"There was an accident…" Harry began. He explained in detail about the quicksilver Spell, and what had happened after. Minus, of course, his personal relationship with Severus. Dumbledore listened seriously. At the end he nodded.

"I suspected as much at the time," Dumbledore said, with a deep sigh. 

"Harry, the Dark Arts are dangerous. Accidents like that are quite common. Granted, Professor Snape should have brought you to Madam Pomfrey instead of tending you himself. Although under the circumstances, she hadn't nearly his experience with exactly that sort of accident, it is true. And he showed poor judgment in hiding it. But well, a lifelong habit of secrecy isn't going to go away just because I wish it. It has served me well, from time to time. He has come a long way, as few know better than I."

"But - but he likes Dark Magic! A lot… a lot more than he should," Harry said anxiously.

"Yes." Dumbledore said sadly. Professor Dumbledore rose to show Harry to the door. "Well, if that is all, Harry…"

"No! It isn't - !" Harry said desperately. "I can't go back! I can't - I can't do Dark Magic!"

Dumbledore stopped and turned towards Harry. "I'm sorry… say that again?"

"I don't want to do Dark Magic any more," Harry admitted at last, his shoulders slumped. He hung his head.

Harry didn't see the slow smile of relief that passed across Dumbledore's face. But he heard the relief in his voice. 

"I can't tell you how very glad I am to hear that."

Harry looked up in amazement.

Dumbledore sat back down and continued. "There is no definitive answer on Dark Magic. Some of it is not at all evil. And even 'evil' spells can be used for good, as no doubt Professor Snape has told you. Yes, yes, Harry, he and I have had many discussions on that subject. He is quite the debater! And he is correct of course, if not exactly _right_. 'Correct' and 'right' are not really the same. Perhaps it is good to know some Dark Magic. Many friends - Professor Snape for one and some fairly outstanding Aurors - have a great deal of knowledge of it.

"But… I can't help but believe that the best protection one can have, is to feel no desire to use it at all." 

"Then… you were testing me?" Harry asked.

"No, no. Severus, Professor Snape to you, was quite convincing that you needed the extra protection. I simply trusted you. Trusted your judgment. You are a grown man now, Harry. You will need to make a lot of difficult decisions, not the least of which involve Dark Magic."

"Severus? It was his idea?"

"Yes. I hope he learned something. You can see now, why I cannot give him the Defence Against the Dark Arts position, much as I would like to. Short of Lord Voldemort or Lucius Malfoy I could hardly ask for a more qualified teacher. Potions, Professor Snape is good at, but it is not where he really shines and he knows it. Yet I would lose him, I fear, yet again." Dumbledore sighed. "I have grown quite fond of our dear Severus. There are those who feel I should not trust him. Although they tend to be the same ones who tell me to shut down Slytherin. Oh… what then? Then the young Malfoys of this world would have no choice at all…"

Dumbledore paused. "On the subject of Severus, I must admit I was a little surprised when I learned of your relationship with him..." 

Harry froze in shock. 

Dumbledore rambled on, "In fact I was so startled, I think I should try to bottle that as some sort of mild Stasis Spell. Yes, I should get started on that right away..."

Dumbledore glanced up at Harry's dumbfounded face. 

"Oh, he told me, Harry," Dumbledore explained, "When he told me about the accident. Just before you arrived. I am so glad he came to me…"

"I wasn't going to talk about it! He - he didn't need to do that…" Harry moaned.

"If he hadn't told me himself, I would have dismissed him. Immediately." Dumbledore glanced at Harry over his glasses. 

"Legally, Harry, you do have your majority. But we are responsible for you here at Hogwarts. You are an adult, and I consider you as such, especially in light of your recent decisions. It was very difficult to choose to end this class, despite the cost to your relationship with him. It was a very mature decision. But you must understand how this would appear: a Professor, a former Death Eater, seduces an impressionable young student?" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled at Harry. "Even one so unimpressionable he won't learn the Dark Arts - even with my direct orders. But Severus now, he is a grown man, if a lonely one. I expect better self control on his part."

"And I don't? Have self control?" Harry spoke up.

"Did you want to?" Dumbledore asked, then nodded at Harry's silence. "It takes experience to know why one should. Even if one is able. There are those who would believe that this is a plot by Voldemort. Others, who know Severus better might think he was getting revenge at your posthumously. If it helps, Severus' feelings for you do appear to be sincere. But if your parents or guardians ever filed a complaint with the school governors, there would be nothing I could do for him. Or for you. To keep it out of the papers and so forth. You are unfortunately famous, and the dismissal of a prominent teacher would be considered news worthy of The Daily Prophet."

That danger occurred to Harry for the first time, and it brought him sharply. His eyes widened. 

"Given your parents, and the Dursleys, such a complaint is unlikely. As no doubt Severus knew. So the decision remains in my hands. If it were anyone else… well, his is a special situation. His life, even, hangs in the balance. 

"Harry, with the loss of your parents, you have had precious little guidance. I have provided what I can. But now you are as I said, a grown man. I cannot protect you from the difficult decisions.

"I ask you to consider something for me. You do not like to practice the Dark Arts yourself. But do you think perhaps, that you are still attracted to the Dark, vicariously, through Professor Snape? Severus. A man who virtually lives and breathes it?" 

Dumbledore chuckled. 

"Oh, what it took just to get him past the Wards at Hogwarts when I hired him, fairly dripping as he was with Dark Magic! That first week, he kept tripping one alarm, trap or another. He was very annoyed to find himself stuck to a wall or some such." Dumbledore eyes sparkled with mirth. Harry could well imagine Severus' explosive irritation. "I learned language such as I never imagined." 

"That Dark Mark of his - you know of it, do you? Yes - that was definitely the worst. Nothing we could do would get rid of it. He tried so often after Voldemort's fall. It is so fundamentally evil… well, we had to disable certain defences and invent entirely new ones. Just so he could walk these halls with that on him. Some of the replacements are themselves Dark Magic," Dumbledore shrugged, "there was no other choice. I did not like it of course, but it had to be done. I put them in place myself…"

Harry was silent. Thoughtful.

"Does that surprise you, that I would use Dark Magic?"

"No." Harry answered, looking up at Dumbledore with a slight smile. Understanding.

"Harry, whatever you decide, I want you to know that I am very proud of you."

Harry never left Dumbledore without the feeling that he had just come away with an armload of unexpected riches. Professor Albus Dumbledore never ceased to surprise him. Harry left the stairwell and squared his shoulders. What he needed first was to find Hermione.

Finis. Next: 'A Crash Course on the Dark Arts.'


	23. A Crash Course on the Dark Arts

A Crash Course on the Dark Arts

by Icarus

It was a busy time at Hogwarts castle. The corridors were filled with whispers and traded spells. Tables and chairs leapt across the room, hurled by those students who were preparing to take their N.E.W.T.'s in addition to their end of year exams. The library buzzed with energy and nervousness (and an unusual amount of noise, greatly annoying the regulars) as even the worst students hit the books. 

"If people would just study all year, it wouldn't be so bad!" complained Hermione, glaring at two Second Years whose study had dissolved into a game of racing paper horses. 

Several Third Years gathered to watch, grateful for the distraction. Halfway through the next race however, their 'horses' suddenly burst into flames and vanished into handfuls of sparks. Students turned to find Madam Pince, a grim look in her eyes that could probably burn most things. Meekly they returned to their books.

"Thank goodness," breathed Hermione.

"Sh!" hushed Ron. He was in a panic over the upcoming Potions test. "I have to pass this year, or it's summer school for me. With _Snape!_"

Hermione gave Ron her best 'I told you so' look, but graciously didn't comment.

Professor Snape was in an unusually foul mood though no one but Harry knew why. He had promised them all a Potions test that no one would pass. And he meant it. In addition, he had assigned a cruel twenty-two inch essay - due the day of the exams - and homework for every day in between. Harry didn't study too hard for Potions. He had the vague thought that if he had to go to summer school, then perhaps he'd have a chance to talk to Severus.

Leaving Ron sweating over his Potions text, Hermione slipped between the shelves of books in the back of the library. Her fingers ran along the worn polished wood with the comfortable ease born from much practice. Hermione was really in her element in a library, and this one she knew like the back of her hand. Currently she was working on an extra credit project for Professor McGonagall she called "very interesting," to the disgust of both Harry and Ron. Harry looked up from his Charms text and quickly seized his opportunity.

"Hermione…" Harry motioned her over to the window out of earshot of everyone, "I need your help - with some research. I realize it's the middle of exams…"

"You're the one that needs to study," Hermione looked interested. "You haven't done a thing. And don't you think I haven't noticed."

"It's important." Harry said. "But there's a lot I can't explain - " He looked left, then right. No one was about. He took a deep breath.

" - I need to know how to remove Voldemort's Dark Mark."

"_What?!_"

"Just… trust me."

"Harry, that's Dark Magic! Everything to do with that would be in the Restricted section, just for starters- "

Harry held up a piece of parchment and tapped it with his wand, muttering the proper Spell. It revealed the glittering Pass to the Restricted section, signed in gold ink by Professor Dumbledore himself. "I have permission."

"How - how did you get a pass to the Restricted section?" 

In a low voice, Harry quickly explained about his classes in the Dark Arts. Hermione's eyes grew wide.

Harry was puzzled. "Ron never told you?"

"No, of course not."

"Ron told you all about my sex life, but not this?" Harry was a little annoyed.

"Well, if Professor Dumbledore said to keep it a secret, he'd respect that you know. Ron does have his priorities," said Hermione. Harry threw up his hands.

"So, about the Dark Mark… is it some kind of an assignment?" she asked.

"Well… yes. In a way," Harry said. "That's… getting into the part I can't explain."

Hermione thought for a moment before she agreed, "All right. I'll help."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He had been right. He thought her curiosity might leap at a chance to learn something so unusual, so out of reach. And hoped it would overwhelm any objections she might have held over his secrecy. Ron would have been more suspicious. But the moment Harry had shown her that Pass, with the all-important 'Teacher's Seal of Approval,' Hermione's suspicions were quelled. 

"But I'll need to know everything," she added.

"I can't tell you everything!" Harry was momentarily worried she might back out. His plan didn't stand a chance without her.

"About the _class_," Hermione rolled her eyes in exasperation. "I know nothing about the Dark Arts. I can't go in blind! I have to know what I'm looking for."

"Oh."

They waited until the dinner hour, when most of the students left, leaving a chaos of unshelved books behind them. Harry explained to Ron they had some extra studying to do, but he waved them away irritably, his nose still buried in Potions. He didn't seem to be getting along very quickly through that book, Harry noticed.

Looking about, Harry handed Madam Pince his Pass. It suddenly occurred to him that she may not let Hermione in with on his Pass. But he hadn't considered Hermione popularity with the library staff. Madam Pince nodded and let them both through, giving Hermione the first smile Harry had ever seen on the Librarian's face. He thought it was really best that she didn't smile too often. She had truly frightful teeth.

They filtered to the back of the Restricted section, where the really dangerous books were kept. They stood in front of a dusty section of shelves. Books with broken bindings and knife cuts, peculiar colored stains and hideous emblems on their spines lined these shelves. A last glimmer of light peeped through an upper window. A few cobwebs fluttered in a draft. It felt suddenly very quiet in the library.

"So. Tell me everything you know," Hermione asked in a hushed voice, sitting down on a bench and suddenly businesslike. Harry pulled up a step ladder and folded his hands.

"Uh… let's see… the Dark Arts are really dangerous…" Harry said, not sure where to begin.

"Categories, Harry, categories. Organize your thoughts. I need a lot of information very fast. I mean, you've been studying this all year, and I have to catch up."

Harry was chagrined. "I'm really not very good at the Dark Arts."

"You probably know more than you think."

Harry ran his hands across a line of books which were now familiar to him… down the familiar worn, leather bound spines, thinking back to his first classes with Severus. They seemed like an eon ago, as so much had changed. Who knew life could get this complicated?

"Well. The Dark Arts is a completely different theory of magic. Professor Snape says regular magic is reversible - "

"Snape's your teacher?" Hermione's head snapped up.

"Yes. He compares regular magic to trimming a bonsai," Harry continued. "Training things in a certain direction without really harming them. He says that's why regular magic is easily reversible. By comparison anyway. Dark magic is more like cutting something down to make something else. It directly effects the fabric of whatever it is and warps it."

"That's impossible," Hermione interrupted.

"No - it's just dangerous. And destructive too if you ask me," Harry said. "Otherwise Dark Magic is pretty much the same. Dark Magic has every classification of Spell we know. Except Herbology. They ignore that, except for what's in Potions."

"Oh, that's rather foolish. Herbology is fundamental," Hermione mused.

"Severus' grandfather thought so, too. He did a lot of work in Herbology and the Dark Arts."

"His grandfather?" Hermione probed. She knew Snape's first name was Severus of 

course, but she'd never heard anyone but another teacher use it. She filed Harry's use of the name in the back of her mind and continued to pay close attention to what Harry was saying.

"Yeah - most of what I was learning came from him."

"Was his grandfather Eckard Aurelius Snape?"

"I don't know. Maybe," Harry shrugged. "I don't remember if he ever told me."

"Well. Eckard Snape a very famous Dark Wizard from the 1930's and 40's. He was supposed to have been brilliant and completely crazy and in league with Voldemort from the very first. Though they didn't have much proof. They say he attacked an Auror and was killed before they could bring him to justice."

"How do you know all that?" Harry blinked.

"It's in the History of Magic, the unabridged version. He has almost a chapter to himself. Harry, how do you manage to learn anything without ever cracking a book?"

Harry shrugged. "I read the assignments. But they cover most things in class."

"You could be such a good student if you would just apply yourself," Hermione shook her head. How many times had Severus said that to Harry? But it was the rest of life Harry was having trouble with, not school.

"Well, Severus says his grandfather wasn't involved with Voldemort at all. And he would know. Told me his grandfather didn't think much of Voldemort - called him a 'sloppy amateur'."

"That sounds like a Snape all right."

"Yeah," Harry said wistfully. He'd welcome even Severus' sarcasm if he would only talk.

Hermione said thoughtfully. "I always supposed Dark Magic to be - well, destroying things. Hurting people."

"It is." Harry was brought back to the task at hand. He explained. "That's mostly what it's used for. Since it's against the law, expensive and dangerous, even Dark Wizards mostly use regular Magic for little normal things. Even though most Spells have a Dark version. So Dark Magic is mostly used now for attack. In fact, it is broken down into defense and attack. You wanted categories? There's Attack on Persons, Attack on Possessions, Attack on Property, Attack on Associates - relatives and friends."

Hermione shuddered and Harry nodded.

"Yeah. Tell me about it. This stuff's given me nightmares for months! Just hearing about it is enough to give you the creeps, but doing it? And the ingredients - blood of this, blood of that… It's horrible stuff.

"Well, the attacks are each broken down into direct, fired objects, fields and traps, dangerous items, and something else… umm… oh yeah - a general category - 'turning,' like turning things against their nature. Can't remember what it's called. The Imperious Curse falls into that."

Hermione nodded once and began scanning the books. "It's probably under that. Or under property. We'll start there anyway."

Dust filled the air and Harry coughed as Hermione selected and then stacked books in Harry's arms up to his chin. He dumped them on a dark mahogany table, and they began reading. Hermione scanned books efficiently. She set them aside at an impressive rate, reviewing and discarding a book in the time it took Harry to read a Table of Contents. The piles between them grew until Harry could only hear Hermione turning pages beyond a mountain of voluminous texts. Every now and then Hermione would interrupt Harry, and they would stagger back with yet another pile. 

Harry was beginning to think it would have been easier to just systematically take down every book on the shelves. Hermione had to have looked at most of them by now. It was four o'clock in the morning when Hermione finally said: 

"Well, this is it."

Harry shook himself, realizing he had been dozing. He peeked over the pile hopefully.

"I've narrowed it down to these fourteen books." 

Harry groaned and put his head in his hands, pillowing his head on the enormous stack.

"That was fast work," said Hermione with innocent and somewhat mind-boggling cheer. "This is everything on the Dark Mark. Their bibliographies all reference each other."

They spent another hour putting the other books back, and put a 'Hold' on those fourteen on Madam Pince's desk. Hermione assured Harry it would be okay to leave them there. 

"Madam Pince does this for me all the time. We can start again tomorrow."

Wonderful. Just how Harry wanted to spent his Saturday.

Hermione was positively beaming.

"See you at ten o'clock. That should be plenty of sleep."

Ten o'clock came far too soon. Harry skipped his shower and staggered into the library - only to find Hermione already there, reading. 

"I couldn't sleep. I thought I saw something last night and it kept bothering me."

Harry yawned. Even being here at ten o'clock gave them only four hours. 

"How many hours did you sleep?" he asked.

"Oh, I dunno, one or two. I can make up for it later - look at this Harry." She dragged over a book almost too big for her to lift. "I find all sorts of things on the Dark Mark. They've tried to remove it before of course…'

"Yes?" Harry was suddenly considerably more awake.

"Well I've got bad news and bad news."

"Okay, give me the bad news first," Harry said.

"First: it cannot be removed. Or rather, it can be, but only by Voldemort," she said.

"And you have more good news I suppose."

"I did find this," Hermione pulled out a much smaller book that fell open to page that was stained with brown marks. They looked like blood. "But I'm afraid it's worse."

Harry scanned the Spell. Yes, based on this Spell, those stains most likely were blood.

Hermione looked up at Harry. "I can't do it. But you or Ron could. It can only be done by a pure blood wizard."

"Could that just be propaganda? I've never really believed that 'pure blood' nonsense. If you can do magic, you can do magic," Harry asked.

"No, I think it matters. For this spell at least." Hermione dragged the really big text over to Harry, and flipped through a few pages until she found her place. "Look at this - see? They're certain Voldemort used the Dark Mark because it doesn't require a pure blood wizard to do, like this Spell. His father was a Muggle, remember?"

"But, Harry. Do you really want to do this?"

Harry scanned through the Spell once more. 

"No. I don't. I really was expecting something different. Dangerous, sure. But nothing like this. Are - are there any other options?"

Hermione winced. "I've been pretty thorough…"

That settled it. Hermione's idea of thorough surpassed even Filch's most sadistic dreams. Harry picked up the book and set it on his book bag. Over in the front portion of the library, Harry spied students starting to filter into the Library for weekend cramming for the tests.

"This is for Professor Snape, isn't it?" Hermione asked quietly.

"I told you: I can't tell you that," Harry looked over the rim of his glasses, hoping Hermione wouldn't pry now.

"I don't like it at all, Harry. That Spell… it's awfully vague," Hermione had a worried frown.

"Well, Severus always says Dark Magic is as much Art as it is Science." 

Finis. Next: 'Pure Blood.'


	24. Pure Blood

Pure Blood

by Icarus

It was the end of year feast, and banners of yellow and black streamed from the ceiling of the Great Hall and waved majestically in the air. Hufflepuff, for the first time in a century had won the House Cup. 

It had been a particularly detention-filled year, with points taken left and right. For the first time in Hogwarts history two entire houses had ended the school year with negative points. 

In a rotten mood, Professor Snape wiped out all the remaining Gryffindor points in the final two weeks, snatching hundreds at a time for the smallest offences. Professor McGonagall warned him. Twice. Then she proceeded to match him, point for point, their private war finally breaking out into the open. By the time the dust settled even Ravenclaw's total had sunk to double-digits. 

The gentle Hufflepuffs had managed to hold on to their meagre advantage. Never winning many points but never losing them either. Professor Dumbledore called it "a breath of fresh air." They were not known for being competitive after all. For the feast he conjured a fresh gentle breeze to celebrate Hufflepuff's success saying: "we should all learn from this." He gave the heads of Slytherin and Gryffindor in particular a meaningful glance. All those who wore hats held onto them, though a few of these skated across the feast table. The House Ghosts clung desperately to their seats. They were not managing well in this wind.

In an intense grudge-match (with the House Cup certainly out of the question), Gryffindor beat Slytherin in the Quidditch finals, winning the Quidditch Cup in an upset victory by a slim margin. In an excess of enthusiasm, the Gryffindors had torn down the Slytherin Quidditch banner and fed it to the Whomping Willow. Gryffindor lost, altogether, an additional five hundred and eighty points for this, points taken by Professor McGonagall. But it was hard to worry about when you were already down a negative eight hundred points. Gryffindor finished the year dead last.

At the feast, the mood of Slytherin therefore could be described as ranging from sour, for the gentlest among them, to enraged, for the harshest. One of the latter was the head of Slytherin, Professor Severus Snape. 

He clearly stated his considered the display for the Hufflepuff victory to be 'excessive.' To which Professor Dumbledore responded by changing the cutlery to yellow and black. Professor Snape folded his arms and kept his grumbling to himself after that. 

Professor McGonagall sipped her tea and seemed quite satisfied with the results. She was perfectly happy to see Hufflepuff win, so long as Slytherin did not. Particularly not by cheating.

Once the food and drink began to flow however, laughter and cheer soon filled the hall. Both the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor tables cheered and toasted the Hufflepuffs. Many of the Professors left their tables and filtered through the Great Hall, chatting and gossiping amongst themselves and talking heartily with favorite Seventh Years who would soon be leaving school. Professor Snape glowered alone at the teachers' table. 

Late into the feast, as the celebration was winding down, one student detached himself from the Gryffindor table and quietly approached Professor Snape.

"So… how are you?" Harry asked him hesitantly, turning a glass of punch in his hand.

Severus glanced up, then ignored him, glaring across the Hall.

"I - I haven't had a chance to talk you," Harry continued. 

"Nor will you," Severus said, still not looking at him. Harry sat on the table next to him.

"People are staring," Severus snarled.

"I'm not sure I care," said Harry.

"Well, come back when you're sure," Severus turned a crow eye to Harry. "I don't like scenes. Harry."

Harry was counting on that actually. Finally, Severus snapped at him.

"Chairs are for sitting," he said waspishly, pulling out a chair, "at least act normal."

Harry sat down. So far so good. But Severus proceeded to continue to ignore him.

"So… what did you think of the last Quidditch match?" Harry said conversationally.

"That I should have hexed the Quaffle," Severus glowered. "and the Snitch - your Granger friend is looking at us. Oh. By the way, how is she getting on with your Weasley?"

He gave Harry a nasty smile. Harry darkened with anger but knew Severus was just trying to get under his skin. He refused to bite. Severus read his determination and cut straight to the point.

"What is it that you want? Harry. Why are you here? To beg my forgiveness on bended knee?" Severus turned to Harry, his eyes flashing with fury. "Forgive and forget, is that it? Kiss and make up at the end of the year? Gryffindor sentiment. No one has ever yet accused me of being too forgiving. Not even Dumbledore believes of that of me. Be content you are finally rid of me. And my class."

"You wouldn't be so angry if you didn't care," Harry pointed out, ruthlessly treading on dangerous ground.

"Care?! I what? I wanted to teach that class - !" Severus hissed at him. "Now bite your tongue, you wretched, ungrateful little serpent. You may be fond of fame, you may crave to be the center of attention, but I most assuredly do not!"

Severus realized his voice was rather loud and that he was almost standing. He sat down. Hard. And pulled in his chair.

"We will speak of this in private. Later."

Harry nodded and left. Barely a moment passed when Severus suddenly threw down his napkin with a curse that rightly should have left it a smouldering pile of ash. He realised belatedly that he had agreed to talk. That boy addled his wits, Severus told himself. Reason enough to be rid of him. And Severus told that relentless part of his mind, the part that said he was glad, to go to hell. He added a few more creative maledictions to that, for good measure. He downed the rest of his drink in one swallow.

That evening in Severus' quarters there came no knock, nor anyone at his door. Not even a note. Severus waited up, with every hour becoming more of a crushing disappointment. It had hurt too, when Harry had given up on sending him the notes. Though he hadn't blamed Harry for getting out of range of his revenge. Severus fell asleep in his chair, a wineglass untouched on the end table. A book slid to the floor, though losing his place made little difference. Not many pages had been turned.

The next morning Severus woke with a start. And a crick in his back. The magically amplified knock at the door far below repeated itself. No one dared his temperament in the morning, not even McGonagall. There was only one person it could be.

"He is here. Good. I can wring his neck." 

Whether it was for standing Severus up or canceling the class, at least the two parts of his mind finally agreed. He let Harry wait. Meanwhile he tried to look as though he hadn't spent the night in a chair. With a considerable lack of success. He ignored the persistent knocking below. As he washed his face in the bathroom, his mirror informed him tartly:

"You'd look better three days dead."

"And _you_ only look as good as I do," Severus pointed out. He hexed the mirror black. But it was too late, he had already seen what was in it. This mirror was used to hexes and insults and it made a raspberry sound at Severus' back as he left.

He didn't do long nights very well anymore, Severus thought, trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes. Oh, who was he kidding? He had never done long nights well. He showed every dark circle and line. Not that it had ever stopped him. The knocking grew a little more urgent. Severus spelled the door open.

Harry was gratifyingly apologetic.

"I'm… I'm so sorry. If you take my head off, I'll understand. I couldn't ditch Hermione! She tailed me everywhere last night!" Harry stopped, finally looking at Severus. "Wow. You look terrible."

"So my mirror tells me," Severus said dryly. 

Harry nodded, leaning companionably against the doorjamb.

"Yeah. Mine always says my hair is hopeless." 

"We need to invent one that lies."

"Let's get right on that," said Harry.

They smiled at each other. Severus had somehow forgotten to be angry. He shook himself from the spell of that easy smile.

"Oh - I'm a rotten host - come in."

"No! Actually - I, uh, I have something for you. C'mon. Follow me," Harry looked anxious and hopeful, as though he feared Severus would refuse.

Severus snatched up his cloak, puzzled, as Harry led him down the stairs and into the hallway. Though he was rather glad to be going in the opposite direction from his quarters. It occurred to him that he hadn't cleaned up yet from the night before. It would have been obvious he had waited up all night. That was a bit of a sting for his pride and he was glad Harry didn't need to know. And never would know, not if he had anything to say about it. 

Harry led them through the wide arched corridors, down two levels to the Potions dungeon. Their footsteps echoed in the empty stone halls. Presumably everyone in the castle was sleeping of their feast.

A gift? Severus mused. What would a student have that he could possibly want? Other than the obvious, Severus smirked to himself. He admired Harry's shoulders and the way he moved under the cable-knit pullover. Harry was dressed in Muggle clothes he noticed, a pair of jeans and sneakers with his Hogwarts pullover. Without his Wizard robes he looked distressingly young. 

Then Harry led them away from the Potions room to the left corridor, onward to the caverns. He lit torches several meters ahead of them. Severus politely extinguished them as they passed. This way wasn't often taken so there was no point in leaving torches burning. Harry was leading him to the boats. 

So they were going to the Forbidden Forest? Severus frowned, slightly puzzled. He had taken down his traps when the class was canceled of course, so Harry could have stashed something in that clearing… but why? Certainly some things from Knockturn Alley could not get past the Hogwarts Wards. But Harry could hardly know where to shop. Not without young Malfoy's help at least. Severus could hardly imagine the two of them collaborating. 

The day was blindingly bright as they emerged from the dark cavern, no more than a little past ten o'clock. Severus helpfully provided the Propulsion Spell without comment. 

The Forest was alive with the sound of birds and other creatures which had been kept away previously by his traps. Well. Such blockades were rather indiscriminate. Dark Magic tended to be that way, and would easily turn on its maker also. The path wound its way lazily, almost unfamiliar by day, and they passed with none of the usual trouble. The forest floor was dappled with green and gold from the first flush of summer. Severus flicked away a mosquito. That was one major benefit of his protections: he had made sure they kept away more than just the large pests. Harry picked up his pace as they approached the clearing sooner than Severus would have imagined.

In the clearing, on the rather blackened rock was a silver embossed Scull-Cup. Beside it lay a double-bladed Gargoyle Knife, and a full set of Alchemist's Powders, already laid out. Though the delicate vials were still capped. Severus recognized them all as being stolen from his office. But that was not what caused him to suddenly throw up a Protection Circle around the clearing. Invisible knives whirled about them, like shadows on the edge of sight, and the light in the clearing was dimmed. Alongside those items was a small, particularly Restricted book on the Dark Arts. It was opened to a certain blood-stained page. 

Harry calmly took his place behind the rock and began uncapping the vials. It was a surreal sight. In the sweater, without his robes and with those owlish glasses he looked innocent, his face nieve. Too young to be so calmly and knowledgeably handling such items that were patently of the Dark. To be preparing that Spell.

Severus finally caught his breath. "I thought you weren't going to do Dark Magic anymore."

"There is evil," said Harry, chewing his lip, "and then there's Dark Magic. They aren't necessarily the same. Someone once told me that." Harry's smile flickered faintly, though his eyes were busy scanning the vials as he put them carefully into place. In fact, Severus had told him that. What had made Harry finally believe him?

"This Spell is not evil." Harry added.

"Oh. It isn't?" Severus asked softly. That was news to him.

"Not the way I'm going to use it."

"I see. Harry - this is very potent Dark Magic. Regardless of whether it is 'evil' or not, it _is_ dangerous. Even by my standards." Especially by his standards. Severus' eyes flicked to the arm, covered though it always was, that held Voldemort's Dark Mark. Harry caught the direction of the glance.

"The Dark Mark… I am not going to lose you to Voldemort," Harry said. He looked up at Severus with determined eyes.

"This Spell in effect is virtually the same!" Though that was not entirely true, Severus thought. It was deeper. More subtle… yes, Voldemort wouldn't see it.

When Severus saw what Harry was planning, he looked like the wind had been knocked out of him. The Protection Circle was something Harry had heard of, but never seen before. At least Severus was too shocked to notice Harry had stolen all of these items from his office.

"Harry, this cannot be undone. Dark Magic, it is too extreme. It is almost always permanent. And this - this most certainly is!"

"That was on the second Quiz," Harry answered. His calm voice belied how fast his heart was pounding.

"You did not pass that Quiz if I may remind you," Severus pointed out.

Harry looked up, waiting. "I still learned."

Harry knew exactly what he was doing. He hoped. But if Severus didn't want to… well, it was his choice. There was nothing Harry would do to make him. Nothing he could do, really.

"I'm sure it will work," Harry swallowed. "I'm a pure blood Wizard too, you know."

"Yes. You are." Severus' look was fond. That sort of thing mattered to a Slytherin, as it mattered to Severus. "Voldemort couldn't even use it, because he was not. He branded us with his Mark instead." 

Harry noted that so far Severus had not said no.

"This is not a coy romantic gesture," Severus growled. He was wavering. Harry held his breath. 

"Did Dumbledore put you up to this?"

Dumbledore? Suggest Harry do Dark Magic? This? Not in a million years. The surprised look on Harry's face must have answered him. Severus was silent a moment as it sunk in; his jaw worked.

Harry half expected him to snatch away the book and leave, or demand to perform the rite himself. Instead Severus quietly, submissively held out his hands, palms up. The emotion in his dark eyes was unreadable.

"This is going to be messy," Harry said, glancing at his robe.

Severus nodded and pulled off his robe. Underneath he wore breeches with a white shirt the sleeves of which he rolled up to his elbows. The shadowy knives continued to whirl around them in an invisible circle.

"Do try not to make any of your usual mistakes, Harry," Severus muttered, "or you will kill us both."

Untrue. This spell rarely killed _both_ Wizards, except in the most incompatible of cases. Harry was sure if something went wrong, Madam Pomfrey could patch Severus up in the matter of a few months.

Harry's eyes scanned the Spell, reading it for what seemed the millionth time. He had actually memorized it, just in case. It was, as Hermione had noticed, more Art than Science. It was written in verse, the attractive artwork down the page only slightly marred by old brown blood. It was not something you did by rote. His eyes lit on the part that bothered him. More explicit directions gave way to a single sentence. It described how no one person was like another, no two were like another two… _therefore, you shall_ _know._ What he would know, Harry was not sure.

Severus stood watching him. Harry mixed the first powders, measuring them with shaky hands. Harry began the incantation, nonsense to him, but flowing like music once he started. It gave his motions a rhythm, calming him and focusing his mind. The world narrowed to this incantation alone. Harry touched the Gargoyle Knife with his wand: Ex libres homines…

Harry picked up the Knife. Severus held out both palms. Over the silver bowl as he should. It had to cut deep, or there wouldn't be enough blood.

Harry's first attempt didn't cut at all. 

He expected Severus to be sarcastic or laugh, but he just waited patiently for Harry to try again. The second cut went clean, across the center of the lifeline in Severus' palms. Severus barely winced. Harry guided Severus' hands over the bowl. Left hand first, then the right. Severus' left was his wand hand. 

Harry steadied himself, took a breath, and then sliced his own wand hand. The Gargoyle Knife was slippery and his hand blazed with the heat of pain as he did his own left hand next. He glanced up at Severus with no little surprise at his calm at this searing heat. 

Harry continued the incantation glad he had memorized it. He was a little dizzy and distracted by his hands. He laid out the parchment. He began to pour the standard Alchemist's Powders into the scull. 

The substance began to bubble of its own accord.

Suddenly the wind picked up. It blew hard from the north. Severus hair flew into his face, though he stood stock still. The wind did an about face and buffeted Harry's shoulders from the south, flipping the pages of the book and rattling the vials. Then east. The strips of cloth they would need later fluttered under a paperweight. Then the wind flipped around and staggered Harry from the back, bearing from the west, harsh and clear. Severus face was triumphant. 

Harry began to work furiously, testing and mixing the Powders with blood on the parchment before adding them. The first ran clear, then black. He added it. The next had a foul smell. No. He discarded that. He continued the incantation. Thinking, no two Wizards were alike… no two combined were alike… he would know, he would know - what? 

The substance in the silver bowl had become a vile orange color at his last addition, which he suddenly knew was not right. It was not working! 

What would he know? 

Harry tested and tried another power. It was better, now, but it still wasn't _right_. That much he did know. He glanced up at Severus, but his expression was vague, watching Harry, a spectator. He didn't know either. The wind buffeted him left and right. Harry suddenly recognised that it was going to shift and he was out of time.

Harry guessed.

He grabbed an entire vial and dumped it directly into the Scull-Cup. The substance turned clear, then boiled, then glowed…

Harry looked down in awe as he recognized the liquid. Severus' mouth opened slightly with a silent gasp. Their eyes met. They both knew.

… silver. Quicksilver. It reached and boiled. 

The wind roared and Severus shouted over it, "Wizard's Silver, Harry!" he laughed in a wild fey voice, "nothing you used should have made that! If this is wrong we are both dead men! It will tear us apart from the inside!"

Severus eyes met Harry's. He leaned closer, laying a dripping bloody hand on Harry's cheek.

"It is not too late. You can still back out." There was a hint of a challenge in his eyes. 

For an answer Harry tipped the cup to his lips. He almost dropped it - it was acrid and strangely tasted of blood. Gagging and wiping his mouth he held it out to Severus, with a look daring him. Severus didn't hesitate. Harry caught him as he toppled forward, dropping the Scull-Cup. Suddenly the wind was knocked out Harry too, and he had just enough consciousness to reach for the sheet strips and loosely wrap their palms together. As his conscious mind faded Harry thought it was not a necessary step, but he did it anyway with the hope that he had… done everything… right.

Harry felt someone stir next to him. He felt so cold. He wasn't in Severus' bed, he was sure. It was too cold. Something jerked on his hands, and Harry came awake. Harry blinked down at his shirt, his jeans. Severus moaned and shook his head next to Harry. Severus' shirt was no longer white. They were both covered in blood. Harry was suddenly grateful he had wrapped their hands before they'd lost consciousness. It probably stemmed the blood flow. But he had got it wrong. He should have tied their wand hands together. Oh, no matter, they both seemed to be alive. If it didn't work, at least they had survived.

No. If they were alive, it had worked.

Harry tried to sit up. His head spun and he decided it was a very bad idea. But the sun was going down. The last pink rays touched the tops of the trees. If it was summer, why was Harry so cold?

Severus grunted and sat up. He shook and freed his hands from the loose bandage. He leaned his back against the rock with an effort and a sigh.

"Why did you do this?" he asked. His voice was low and hoarse with exhaustion.

"I told you," Harry breathed and coughed a little. "I'm not losing you to Voldemort."

"No. Why _you_? There are others who could have done this spell."

"You know the answer to that."

They lay there for some time, half awake, mindlessly watching the pink vanish from the trees. Finally Severus spoke with an effort.

"Lost a lot of blood. Can you walk?"

"No."

"Good. Glad to hear it. Because we must go - now - if we do not plan to become midnight hors d'oeuvres for one of Hagrid's hairy friends."  


He had a point. They staggered up, supporting each other's weight as they half-walked, half-crawled down what had become, in the space of an afternoon, an extremely long trail. Harry's memory of that trip was hazy, though he recalled later Severus picking him up and dragging him when Harry had just stopped to rest. For just a minute. Really. He heard the sound of water, and revived a little in a different breeze. Harry struggled free of Severus and staggered on his own down to the dock. He rolled over the edge into the boat. After a moment, blinking, he realised Severus was in the boat with him. For a foggy second, something seemed missing. Then he realised. He had his wand of course, but nothing else. Harry cursed.

"We left everything, the book - all back in the clearing!"

"You mean _you_ did," Severus said pointedly. He sat up a little and pulled out his wand: "_Accio:_ book!"

One by one, the various Dark Magic items flew to Severus' hands. He let them fall to the bottom of the boat as though he didn't have strength to hold them. Harry could only watch.

"You can do Magic in this state?" Harry asked wonderingly.

"I have done Magic after the Cruciatus Curse," Severus said flatly. "One does what one must."

Nonetheless, his Propulsion Spell failed halfway across the lake. He tried again, but his shoulders sagged as it stopped after only a few more feet. He was about to try again, but Harry grabbed his arm and shook his head at Severus. Stop. So they each picked up an oar and rowed.

Severus' room in the third Dungeon was far closer than Gryffindor Tower. Harry sent a blunt note to Hermione through the house elves. She'd tell Ron. 

'Worked. It's alright. See you tomorrow.'

Sometime around midnight, stretched under the blankets though still in his bloody clothes, Harry felt a kick.

"Harry. Move on over. You are taking the entire bed."

"You need a bigger bed," Harry complained. Every muscle fought him as he complied.

"Why? Plan to stay?" the voice next to him breathed in the dark.

"Yeah."

There was a moment of silence before Severus answered.

"Done."

Finis. Next: 'Breath of Morning.'


	25. Morning Breath

Breath of Morning (or Morning Breath)

by Icarus

Harry stirred a little, suddenly aware that he was still dressed. His jeans dug into his stomach. He felt a little sticky too, but he could ignore that to sleep a little longer. Blue jeans had to be the single most uncomfortable garment in which to sleep he decided. Which made Harry wonder why were they so comfortable during the day? It was one of those great mysteries he pondered in the mornings when his mind drifted with little else to do. He always thought of odd matters like that when he was in his cupboard, staying there a little longer in the mornings just to avoid Dudley. 

The morning was bright, it was late, but he had nowhere to be and he was very tired. His whole body anchored itself to the bed. Though his mind was stubbornly awake. 

It was a bad combination, tired body, awake mind.

Harry blinked and glanced about. He was pleasantly surprised by his surroundings. Severus' room. Oh yeah. He remembered.

He unbuttoned the jeans, peeled them off… it was so hard to do… and tossed them onto the floor. Severus stirred beside him, always the light sleeper. Fortunately, Severus the morning viper curled into his corner of the bed and went back to sleep. Without complaint. That was rare. He did not like to be disturbed. For someone who complained bitterly about Harry taking too much of the bed, he certainly took very little of it. 

Harry realised with a pleased smile that this was the first lay in he'd ever had with Severus. Usually, those few times they had accidentally fallen asleep after sex, they were too busy throwing clothes on and packing Harry off to his rooms. It didn't matter anymore. Harry was officially no longer a student. And he was welcome to stay. Harry savoured that a moment.

Harry looked down at his arms. There was no mark or any outward indication of the Spell. Somehow he had expected a Dark Mark or, well, something like it. But Severus said Voldemort had branded him, so this Spell must work somewhat differently.

It was so good just to lie here next to Severus. He rolled over deliciously and studied the older man aware he may never get another chance. Harry loved to sleep in, while Severus, despising the morning though he always did, was efficiently up early, every day. Something to do with a Wizarding bed that froze over after a certain hour as a child. Harry couldn't exactly picture someone like Mrs. Weasley doing that to her kids. The Snape family must be a joy. It made his cupboard seem quite luxurious by comparison. At least it was always warm.

Black hair tumbled across the pillow next to Harry. Elegant hands clutched the duvet, his precise cheek bones almost carved under dark lashes. He had a wide mouth, sensual, lips parted. He must be very tired to be so relaxed, Harry thought. Blunt dark eyelashes fluttered a little, and there was slight crease in his forehead. Severus did not have good dreams. He was also still dressed. Now that was a shame. Though his breeches looked considerably more comfortable than jeans. Even if they were stiff with blood.

"Hey, wake up a little, Severus. We have to get those off you." He was careful to speak first before touching him. Severus hexed out of a dead sleep, and looked later.

Severus groaned, wrapped himself around his pillow and rolled all the blankets off of Harry. But Harry knew Severus was awake. He couldn't sleep through a pin drop. A low growl proved Harry right.

"I would turn you into a potted ivy… if I were still amongst the living."

"Good morning. You know, you were much cuter when you were asleep."

Severus' cough was almost a laugh. "No one has ever called me 'cute.'"

Harry pulled the blankets and stained sheets off Severus. Severus was not helpful at all, he just threw an arm over his face. His sleeve was crusted to the elbow.

"C'mon. Ugh. You're covered in blood. Let's get these things off you - _Ow_!"

Harry had leaned up on an arm, forgetful of his freshly sliced hand. The cut broke open sharply, stinging, and seeped new blood. Severus glanced up.

"Watch where you bleed. The sheets are Hogwarts' - bleed on them. Not the pillows. Those are mine. We will need to tend our wounds. Tomorrow. Perhaps next week…" he rolled over on his side. 

"No, no, no, I've got it. Sometimes I forget I'm a Wizard," Harry picked up his wand off the end table, leaving his glasses there for the moment. He pointed his wand at his hand: "_Vestigia Retrorsum!_"

The cut attempted to close itself, shuddered, and fell open again. Harry stared. Severus spared him a bleary sarcastic glance. There were dark circles under his eyes.

"You cannot counter the effects of a powerful Spell with a Healing Charm. Certainly not the _Ligare Juncta Commisceo_. Easier to fill a crater with a teaspoon. Our hands must heal naturally." 

Harry hadn't considered that. It made sense though.

"Well?" Severus asked. Harry looked up, a bit confused. "You could conjure us a few bandages, yes?"

"Oh. Of course," said Harry, who quickly summoned a roll of Medi-Gauze. It had 'the best Healing Charms woven into every inch!' Or so the packaging said. Not helpful, but at least it was still gauze. As Harry wrapped Severus' hands, he asked curiously.

"You know that Spell then?"

"Yes. I have often tried to remove the Dark Mark," Severus grunted. He watched Harry as he carefully guided the bandage around his thumb. Harry's glasses had slipped to the end of his nose. Severus bit back a slight wince as Harry pulled it a little tight. "As no doubt your research discovered, the Dark Mark is believed to be based on the _Commisceo_. I must admit, I was so bent on removal I never considered the possibility of adding a competing Spell. But then, I suppose I did not want it either. One is bad enough."

"So, do you know what it does?"

"You do _not_?!" Severus sat up. Harry's hard work came undone in a spiral.

"Well, I have the general idea. But I didn't bother to go through all the details." Harry was a bit sheepish. Mostly he just needed to know how to do it. The 'why' of it was Hermione's job.

"Details he calls it. A Spell that is going to effect him for the rest of his life. Details." Severus said in disgust. "Harry - you are reckless! Of all the irrational, unthinking, mindless, misbegotten… you are a hazard to yourself and others! I ought to wrap you up and store you in box. Permanently! 

"If I had known you were that stupid I would never have agreed!"

"Well what does it do?" Harry asked. It seemed pointless to be upset about it now. It had worked. He was just grateful they had survived. Besides, Harry trusted Hermione. Though she had been worried about this Spell. He had assumed her worry was because it was so difficult.

"I'm not sure. Oh, I know what the _Commisceo_ ought to do. It is usually used by very close friends. Or lovers…" Severus' glance at Harry was warm. "But what it will do in conjunction with a competing version, the Dark Mark? I have no idea."

Harry took Severus' hand again to try to redo the bandage. It was no use. Harry conjured a fresh roll of the purple Medi-Gauze.He looked up at Severus. 

"Well. I suppose we're going to find out."

"You are a fool, Harry. An outrageous arrogant fool," Severus said darkly, shaking his head with a laugh of stunned disbelief.

A slow smile spread across Harry's face.

Once stripped and bandaged, they had fallen back to sleep. Harry woke to a clattering sound in the kitchen and the sound of running water. He wandered in wearing Severus' robe and nothing else, yawning.

Severus was dressed in flowing black and was tasting what smelled like - and what Harry dearly hoped - was food. Harry was famished. 

"G'morning," Harry said. Severus glanced back at Harry over his shoulder.

"It is afternoon. Be civilized and have a bath. You have blood on you," Severus gave him a look of distaste. Severus himself could not have been up that long however. His hair was still wet.

"You are a beast in the morning," Harry said, sitting down at the kitchen table and picking up The Daily Prophet.

"It's afternoon," Severus informed him. "And I hate mornings. Mornings are for headaches and responsibility. In the morning that beautiful boy from the night before has bad breath and bad hair - "

"I'll brush my teeth," Harry responded. He stood and hovered curiously over Severus' pans, and then ran his hands through Severus' wet locks. "But you know, I like it when your hair's a mess. Reminds me you're human."

" - and blood on him. Go have a bath," Severus pushed him away.

Harry tasted some of the blood on his arm, aiming a grin in response to Severus' best glare. "Salty. I think it's some of yours." 

Harry lifted a lid on one of the pots and sniffed. "I didn't know you could cook…"

Severus set the spoon in his pot and gave him a long steady gaze. 

"Potions _is_ cooking. One would think that after seven years you might have noticed." He added some herbs. "Though I suppose I should not be too surprised. Given your grades in my class."

"Yeah, how did I do, by the way? On the final."

"Potions? You passed, barely. By the skin of your teeth. Virtually no one did. But you failed the Dark Arts. Miserably."

Harry sampled one of Severus' pots. "Oh…"

"Well, what do you expect? You only made an effort for one class. Though I may reconsider your Dark Arts grade, considering your, ah, recent extra credit work…" 

"No - I meant, wow, this is really good." Harry seized some pot-holders and moved the steaming container to the counter. "I expected to flunk both classes, given how mad you were."

"I am not biased. I merely have higher standards than some other Professors, whom I shall do the undeserved favor of not naming."

Tongue in cheek, Harry decided not to answer that. He sleeked a lock of hair out of Severus' face and stroked his back.

"You look a little a pallid this morning, " Harry noted.

"It is afternoon. Go get dressed. And have a bath. Not in that order."

"Sure you don't want some of this blood back?" Harry smirked.

"Oh yes. Do save some of it for me. I shall have it in my afternoon tea. And sprinkle a little dirt with it, if you don't mind," Severus said, leaning back into Harry's kneading hands.

"Aha! We always knew you drank the blood of students!"

"As you drank the blood of your teacher?" Severus asked with an arched eyebrow.

Their eyes met darkly.

"You could at least say thank you. Next time Voldemort rings you, and you don't want to answer, you're either going to be able to fight back or I'm going down the toilet with you." Harry's gaze was steady. He leaned on the counter.

"I spend half the afternoon cooking. That means no house elves, no one around. No interruptions. One would think someone bright enough to locate that Spell might be able to put these facts together," Severus pointed out scathingly.

"Oh. Well, uh, actually… Hermione found it," Harry confessed.

"Then never mind: You flunk Dark Arts. Granger passes instead." Severus said.

"Hey! I worked the Spell!"

"Then you get everything else." Severus purred. He turned to Harry.

"I'll take you up on that. Right now," Harry said under his breath. He backed Severus against the kitchen table and began pulling up his robes, kissing his neck and face. The pepper mill clattered to the floor. 

"Fucking on the kitchen table? Unhygienic…" 

"You keep Bolyvorg Potion with the food - !" He finally had Severus' robes up to his waist. Trousers underneath. Wizards wore too much clothing.

Severus surfaced from a kiss and breathed through a toothy smile: " - it is Hermetically Sealed. I watched the Hermit Seal it myself." Harry had his trousers down. He had torn off the belt to Harry's robe. His robe. It was really fine Harry hadn't dressed after all. "So long as no one tampers with it - " 

Harry was a pleasant pressure against his backside, pressed against Severus, trembling. Maddeningly, Harry stopped.

" - oh, do go on…" Severus gasped in frustration.

"In the kitchen? It's unhygienic." Harry teased him.

"I don't care!" Severus' fist hit the wall and the salt shaker fell to the floor, scattering salt everywhere. Severus looked up.

"You had better move my sugar bowl first."

Severus had finally managed to get Harry to take a shower. Harry's arms were draped around his shoulders and chest, the water cascading down their backs. It turned Severus' hair into a smooth black sheet, slick and soft along Harry's shoulder. Harry leaned his chin against Severus' collarbone with a sigh. 

"Mmm. I love the hair," Harry nuzzled him.

"Really? I hadn't heard."

Severus' habitual toss of his head made the fine sheet dance on Harry's back. As he well knew. The reaction was predictable. Not that Harry being predictable was always a bad thing. Harry was very willing by the time Severus got him to the bedroom. Soft sheets and downy pillows was always his preference.

Later in the bedroom, Harry was zipping up his trousers and tucking in his shirt. He glanced about for his glasses. Useless to look for something when you can't see. He noticed Severus twirling something familiar in his fingers.

"Lost something, have you?" he chided, straightening his robes. "Be more careful, I almost sat on them. Objects are never quite the same after a Reparo Spell. Best not to break them in the first place."

"They've had ten Reparo Spells. At least. And I was busy. After all, I want to enjoy you before we're both dead." 

"You do not think much of your abilities." Severus said flatly.

"Neither do you."

"Oh, I do not think much of your common sense. Or rather, your complete and utter lack of it." Severus pointed out. Not handing Harry his glasses back yet. "I also do not think much of you as a student to be perfectly honest. You are arguably one of the worst I have ever had. Despite your ability to somehow pass my exams. Your handwriting is atrocious - I should be wearing a pair of these by now as a result - and you have no patience for research. Your essays… are an equal mix of bullshit and mindless parroting, bereft of insight and sometimes even thought. Do not ever think you got away with it. I am not a bad teacher and I know when someone makes no effort.

"But. When it comes to real, practical, physical magic? Well, there are those say you are one of the best Hogwarts has seen in a long time. Do not let it go to your head, Potter! I have reservations about telling you." He handed back the glasses.

"According to who?" Harry was stunned.

"That is 'whom,' Harry. The werewolf, Professor Lupin for one. While he was here." Severus watched Harry carefully. "Dumbledore for another. As for myself, until yesterday, I thought they were blinded by that ineffable 'Potter mystique' that seems to cling to you and lets you get away with whatever you want. Even in my kitchen. But after last night's performance… well, it seems my teaching you was not a complete waste of breath. You may prove me wrong if you like. But if you don't mind, wait until after Voldemort has learned I'm a spy. Long after."

"It may not come to that you know," Harry said.

"We should be so lucky," Severus said seriously.

Finis. Next: 'Evening.'


	26. Overdue Books

Evening

by Icarus

After a late lunch, or an early dinner, they felt fully recovered. Harry stretched out on the love seat paging through one of Severus' unique coffee table books. Severus was in his chair, scowling at The Daily Prophet, clearly finding a news item in there that annoyed him. Harry glanced at the upside-down headline. He seemed to be reading a long piece about an old house being condemned. Now why should that bother him? 

Harry returned to the coffee table book. It had various landscapes rendered in a way that was quite life-like. The ocean shore was interesting, if a tad loud. Harry got ocean spray on his glasses, though the wind was refreshing. After a bit, Severus surfaced from behind his newspaper and shot him a look that said _do you mind?_ Guiltily Harry turned the page. Now he was basking in sun's rays from a remote island. The ghost cat batted at the flames in the fireplace. Now that was something she could never do while she was alive, Harry thought. He wondered if there were ghost mice in the castle for her. She gave up on the flames and started stalking the crow in the photo above the hearth. It ignored her, as it still ignored Harry. Severus had reassured Harry that the crow would eventually warm up to him.

Severus tossed the paper in the fire then hexed it in a spew of purple and green sparks. He looked rather annoyed. "Morgana's bastards, the lot of them…"

"What's up?" Harry asked.

"Nothing." Severus scowled.

Harry blinked. That had been a rather dramatic nothing. Severus steepled his fingers under his chin, a sudden thoughtful expression on his face.

"So. Harry. What are your plans for the future?" Severus asked. Harry wadded up a piece of paper into a paper ball and lobbed it across the room. The ghost cat silently scampered after it. 

"Other than staying here with you forever?" Harry asked. He shut the book, before he got a sunburn. That tropical sun was intense.

"Impractical. You are hardly Professor material," Severus pointed out. Leave it to him to mention the ugly truth so bluntly.

"Well. I've thought about it long and carefully," Harry stretched.

"And - ?" Severus prodded.

"And I haven't a clue," Harry admitted.

"I suspected as much." Severus smiled grimly. "I may have a job for you. For the summer, while you think about your future. How are you with Reparo and Construction Spells? Beyond endlessly fixing your glasses that is."

"Pretty good, I suppose. Why?"

"And fairly good with Dark Magic, too… yes," Severus mused, rubbing his lip thoughtfully. "I have a little work that needs to be done at Snape Manor, if you don't mind staying there."

Harry brightened. "Don't mind? Me? Stay in a Wizarding Mansion all summer?"

"You have not seen it. It has not exactly been… maintained. I will pay you for the work, of course," Severus continued smoothly.

"Will you be there?"

"Part of the time. You will need help," said Severus, but Harry wasn't listening.

"Then I don't care what kind of a wreck it is. That would be wonderful!"

"As I said: you have not seen it yet." Severus hesitated, then seemed to change his mind about whatever it was he was going to add. He disappeared behind a Potions Journal, volume 957. "If it proves too difficult we can re-negotiate the terms mid-summer. That would be fair I believe."

The fire crackled as Harry happily contemplated the summer. It threw off a last few angry purple sparks and settled.

"Where will you be? Here? Or at your flat in London?" Harry wondered.

"London? That was a long time ago… where Torvald and I lived… how did you - ?" Severus' face was suddenly fierce and triumphant. He threw aside his Potions Journal and picked up his wand. "That address _was - in - my - book! _Bring it back!"

Severus didn't wait for an answer but threw a Stasis Spell. Harry blocked it and rolled to the floor.

"_Sado-Immobilius!_" Severus fired another Spell. But Harry knew that one and defused it with the counter charm. 

Harry tried a Levitation Spell. Severus swatted it to the ground, hitting the carpet. The rug levitated, bubbling underneath the furniture, knocking them both off-balance. Severus' wand-work was quick and tight.

"_Expelliarmus!_" 

Severus' brutal Disarming Spell blew Harry ten feet across the floor, and his wand flew clattering to the wall. Severus slowly approached; wandless, Harry did the next best thing - he tackled Severus, landing both of them on the bubbling carpet. Any Spell Severus tried would likely hit them both. Severus was surprised, but soon had Harry pinned and struggling under his superior weight. He tapped Harry on the nose with his wand. And blue-green strips of light strapped Harry - and the carpet - to the floor.

They were both heaving and laughing. Severus struggled to his feet.

"You look beautiful…" he gasped. "…decorating… my floor… And you are going to… going to stay there… until you _bring back my book_…" Severus' chest heaved. 

Harry struggled and gave up. How Severus managed the unfamiliar Binding Spell without hitting himself was beyond Harry. 

"You're really good at dueling," Harry grinned.

"I know," Severus smiled, touching a cut lip.

Harry gave in.

"Let me up, and I'll get the Book of Eros for you," Harry said.

"You give me your word as a Gryffindor?" Severus asked skeptically.

"I give you my word as Harry," he said.

"Even better." Severus banished the straps, and the Levitation Spell, and gave Harry a hand up. "We will have to do that again some time."

"What? The wrestling?"

"Oh, I get that every night. And in my kitchen," Severus smirked.

"Teach me that Spell and you have a deal," Harry said, picking up his wand. " _Accio:_ Book!"

"And give away my advantage for next time? I think not." Severus said. "It's difficult to find Grappling Spells that will work at close quarters. A word of advice however: do not tackle a larger man unless you plan to take his wand. And you had best learn to be much better at this. I may be good, but Lucius Malfoy can beat me with one wand tied behind his back."

They settled together in the love seat to wait for the book to arrive. It was a ways away, and could hit any number of obstacles to slow its flight. They fed the rest of the newspaper to the fire and Harry tucked himself under Severus' arm. Severus had a few other interesting travel books he wanted to show Harry, and some photos of places he had been. Severus had precious few of those, though he had traveled often. Most of his travel had been on… business... he explained. Sometimes Harry forgot his former occupation. He was fairly certain he didn't want to know just what that business had been. 

Not long after, they heard a persistent erratic bumping sound against the door. There was the sound of something of a scuffle.

"Ah. That would be my book, at long last," Severus said, sarcasm heavy in his voice.

Harry picked himself up off the couch to answer the door, setting aside a stack of photos. They were of indifferent quality, Severus was no artist, but interesting nonetheless. Harry wondered how many of those people in them were Death Eaters. Torvald appeared in many, grinning and cheerful as ever. It was still hard to picture him as a ruthless killer. Harry opened the door.

"Ron…?" Harry asked, stunned.

"Harry! Thank god it's you. It's getting away!" Ron's arms were wrapped around the struggling Book of Eros. There were sneaker skid marks along the stone floor. 

Ron's eyes widened as Professor Snape joined Harry at the door. Severus slid his arm intimately and possessively around Harry's hips, cupping his arse just to make the point. Severus gave Ron his most lascivious smile. Harry couldn't keep the heat out of his face at this contact, and Ron's eyes darted back and forth between the two of them. Ron's jaw fell. 

"Harry…?" Ron said questioningly, almost desperate for Harry to deny what he saw.

"Ron - " Harry began to explain, reaching for him, but Severus interrupted.

"Mr. Weasley. So good of you to - stop by. Thank you, as well, for so kindly… ah, bringing me my book." Severus pulled the Book of Eros from Ron's now limp hands. 

Then Severus pulled out his wand: "_Obliviate!_"

Ron's eyes glazed. He stared straight ahead unseeingly. 

"You will return to your days activities. Whatever they may be. You will forget what you saw here, that you ever saw Harry and I together in my apartments."

Severus shut the door in Ron's face without even looking to see if he had left.

"I just did the both of you a favor, Harry." Severus turned to him. "Now do yourself a favor, and tell him. Soon."

Finis. Next: 'The Unicorn.' 


	27. The Unicorn final chapter

The Unicorn

by Icarus

The dawn was gray and dim, hushed. It was Harry's last day at Hogwarts. The Hogwarts Express left at noon. Harry hadn't packed yet, but there was plenty of time for that. Harry wanted his brief time with Severus to last just a little bit longer. By this evening he would be back at the Dursley's, who would insist on his finding a job and moving out. He looked forward to informing them that he already had. If he timed it right, he could walk out at that moment. Harry smiled faintly at the thought.

The figure beside him stirred, rustling the sheets. Harry lay there as quietly as he could, holding his breath. Just a little longer, he asked silently.

"You are not fooling me. I know you are awake," Severus low voice came from the barely discernible pillow. He leaned up on an elbow and the sheets slid to his waist. His face was shadowed and his hair a tumbled dark mess. He could compete with Harry first thing in the morning. Well, not quite. Too many years of Sleek-Eazy never quite seemed to wash out.

Harry let out the breath and stared up at the ceiling, head pillowed on his arms.

"Don't force me to go yet," Harry pleaded.

"It is still early," Severus said softly. He touched Harry's face gently and ran his fingers through Harry's hair. "Do not act the child. It does not become you. Or me, for that matter." His voice was wry. They had worked out the exact difference in their ages the night before and were still slightly appalled. Well, at least it wasn't twenty years. Quite.

"Look at it this way," Harry had shrugged. "If you were Dumbledore's age, there would be a one hundred and forty year age difference. By comparison…"

"An infinitesimal amount," Severus had answered dryly, though he had looked as though he'd had a bit of a shock. He had rolled back onto the pillow with his hand on his forehead. "My god, forty is just around the corner. Have I really been teaching _Potions_ for _seventeen_ years? Those first few years after leaving Hogwarts were so exciting… they do not seem that long ago…"

Harry had blanched at the idea that anyone could refer to being a Death Eater as 'exciting.'

"Well. At least I have something out of you for all my efforts teaching," Severus had smirked fiendishly. Harry had fallen back to the pillow. Severus had a dastardly sense of humor. Their lovemaking that night had been fierce, intensified by the lost time they both regretted and the knowledge Harry was due to leave the next day.

Now Harry rolled over into those arms, sleepy as Severus was, and tangled their long legs together. He thought he was taller than Severus by now. Perhaps. As he was swallowed by a wide kiss a sudden thought occurred to Harry. Hermione! Harry had told her he would be back yesterday -! She must be worried sick. A nip on the ear and a slight growl from Severus protested Harry's distraction. 

Oh well. Hermione would have to get over it. Harry winced at the lecture he had just earned. Severus hand wrapped around Harry's backside, and Harry gave himself over to a long, slow and surprisingly gentle morning.

Severus leaned on both elbows over Harry, denting the pillow. The sweat beaded still on his forehead. Harry proceeded to kiss the drops off, one by one, feeling Severus' breath on his chin, his neck, and in his hair. Harry settled his arms easily around Severus' firm waist, happily comfortable.

Severus' face was only inches from Harry. "About our summer plans…" he breathed, "you might want to check them with Albus, in case he has other ideas." Severus winced somewhat and paused. 

"If you do not mind, I would rather you not mention to anyone your being here this week end. It is the end of the school year, but I did promise Albus I would no longer… well, that I would back off. At least until you had left Hogwarts." Severus smile bared his teeth and he ground into Harry deliciously. What a quaint notion, that he would deny himself the one good thing to come out of this disaster. He had agreed but then, he had been angry with Harry at the time so it had seemed almost plausible. "I have not quite managed it."

"What? Merlin's arse, did he really? My personal life is none of his business! He had no right!" Harry raised up on his elbows.

"He had every right. To fire me. And he did not. Though he may yet. Let's not give him another reason, shall we?" Severus' lips traced a path along Harry's cheekbone. "Obviously a spectacle at the trains _in flagrante delecto_ is out of the question." 

Severus proceeded to give Harry his goodbye kiss in advance, and broke off with a sudden thought. "A pity. I would love a repeat of that look on your Weasley's face. 

"Shocking Minerva would be a treat, too." Severus added. "Sometimes the old bags make the mistake of thinking I am one of them, just another Professor. Always good to disabuse them of that notion."

"You really don't like Professor McGonagall, do you?" Harry snorted, shaking his head. He was grateful Ron would be spared. Then he remembered he would have to tell Ron. He didn't know how he was going to do that.

"Say that name in these apartments and expect a cold bed, Harry," Severus answered. "No. I do not. This may come as a surprise to you, but I do hold grudges."

Professor Severus Snape stood on the platform to the Hogwarts Express like a silent lurking statue, his arms folded, the sweep of black cloak reaching to the ground. He did not appear to be watching anything or anyone in particular. But Albus Dumbledore knew better. A few of the other Professors gave Severus a curious glance. Or two. Severus didn't normally come to watch the trains leave, despite the fact that it was a Hogwarts tradition to wave their students goodbye until the next term. Absurd sentimentality, he called it. 'They'll be back next year, whether we like it or not' was Professor Snape's usual opinion on the matter. Yet here he was. Though of course, Severus did not wave. 

Professor Albus Dumbledore shook his head silently to himself at what for Severus Snape, was a shameless display. He had chosen to keep Severus', ah, indiscretion to himself. But once word leaked out concerning Harry's 'summer employment,' quick minds in the staff room would draw some conclusions that were unfortunately quite correct. He had not hired any unintelligent Professors. Dumbledore mentally prepared himself for a midsummer visit from the very persistent Minerva McGonagall; and he dearly hoped Harry would think to tell Hagrid himself. It was going to be a very trying summer as it was.

Separately, of course, Dumbledore had attempted to talk them out of their foolish plan. 'Give it some time, just a summer,' he had urged Harry. 'Give the young man a chance to grow up,' he had begged Severus; if there were something there it would withstand a few months' cooling off. But they were both stubborn in their own ways. Severus was not meeting Dumbledore's eyes, at fact that Albus supposed to mean Severus had not kept his word not to sleep with the young man. Severus was so bitter it was easy to forget how much younger he was than Hogwarts' other Professors. Though everything had seemed just fine until the week end. Dumbledore shook his head. They were not making life easy for themselves. 

Watching Severus on that platform, Albus realised he would have had more success if he had thought to plead the suffering they would cause each other. Hindsight was ever perfect. It was a mistake to have expected reason from them in this state. But until now, Dumbledore had thought he was merely dealing with a schoolboy crush and a thirty-seven year old's mid-life crisis. An unfortunate combination, yes, but one that could be dealt with by simply separating them for a time. Before they could do each other too much damage. But now there was an underlying Magic, a current Dumbledore could not account for. Something had changed. Considerably. Overnight it seemed. It looked familiar… at the same time Dumbledore couldn't quite recognize it.

Dumbledore's eyes scanned the train. Sure enough, leaning against one of the windows and making even less of an effort to hide his feelings was Harry. Dumbledore waved to him, and saw Harry wave back. Then Harry returned to his study of Professor Snape.

Oh. There was also Sirus Black's reaction to consider. Dumbledore sighed and waved to Harry once more. It was going to be quite a long summer.

Harry leaned against the compartment window as the final whistle blew for the Hogwarts' Express. He wasn't sure if he had packed everything. He and Severus had once again pushed their timing to the last feasible second. On the platform Severus stared straight ahead sternly, not obviously looking at Harry of course. Harry had asked him to come. Severus had emphatically refused. But here he was. Harry watched Severus' familiar toss of his head, always trying to shake the hair out of his face. Harry thought he should grow it longer. A strand caught the breeze and Harry wanted to brush it off his face. 

The train slowly began to pull away. At last moment, Severus glanced in Harry's direction. Then he turned away with a casual flick of his wand as he left. Harry smiled.

"He's not good for you, Harry," Hermione said behind him. Harry startled slightly and glanced at her. She was looking at Professor Snape. Trust Hermione to guess. Harry wondered how long she'd known.

"He's not good for anyone," Harry answered hardly missing a beat. He was getting used to being caught off guard. As he should after months of Severus Snape.

Ron bustled between the two of them, cans of pumpkin juice and an armload of treats in his hands. Hermione stepped aside as Ron kicked the compartment door open with his foot.

"Stand aside, coming through…" Ron said. "Whoa, Harry, where'd this come from…"

The door shut behind him.

"Hermione, let me tell Ron," Harry asked her.

"You'll have to. I've been telling him for half the year and he won't believe me," she said, exasperated. "I could show a movie and serve popcorn, and he still wouldn't believe me."

"When did you figure it out?" Harry wondered.

"The note. It _had_ to be from a teacher. No one else could that Enchantment. I just couldn't figure out whom. But when I learned about those Dark Arts classes and realised how much time you two must have spent together; and then all you went through for that Spell… well, it was pretty obvious after that," Hermione stated, her arms folded. "Though I would never have imagined you and Snape. That was a good thing you did, Harry, with that Spell. But I do hope you know what you're doing."

"That makes two of us," Harry said. He glanced at Ron through the compartment window. Ron had spilled some pumpkin juice and brushed at himself, and awkwardly tried to mop it up. The sun hit his hair and it shone in a kind of red-gold aurora. Harry nodded in Ron's direction. "Can you…?"

"I'll see if I can get us some more napkins," Hermione said, rolling her eyes in fond disgust.

Harry made sure he closed the compartment door firmly behind him. 

"Ron…"

Ron looked up, immediately aware of the serious note in Harry's voice. He glanced at the door Harry had shut.

Ron stared out the window. Trees jumped past at an alarming rate if you looked too closely. The ones nearest the train moved very fast, while the ones in the distance beyond the little lakes and rivers seemed to almost hold still. It was a strange effect. But everything seemed strange to Ron at the moment. The train car rocked gently. At least the landscape was familiar, one he'd seen every year on his way to Hogwarts.

"Is this my fault?" Ron asked Harry finally.

"What -? No. What do you mean?" Harry said.

"Well, I didn't - you know." Ron blushed and turned to Harry. "Harry, I knew. About the Love Potion and all. I knew you lied, about why it didn't work. Well - it was a lot for a guy to take, you - the way you looked at me like I was some kind of pork chop -"

"I did not."

"Yes you did. And then there was… " Ron lowered his voice and cringed, "what we'd been doing. With the book and all that. I really - I was pretty torn up. It was all so crazy! Everything. With Hermione, I - I guess I was a little anxious… I mean I sorta wondered about myself, you know?"

"You practically boffed her front of me!" Harry glared.

"It didn't happen like that! I told you! Oh… I - I'm sorry," Ron put his face in his hands. "I know. That was bloody awful…. I just couldn't find anyplace! And I was getting desperate -"

"Couldn't find anyplace! We had a hundred -" Harry began, but Ron interrupted.

"Look, Harry. You don't understand. Girls are different. You don't know," Ron heaved a sigh. "I could walk you all over Hogwarts, and half the school grounds, and you'd still be ready. Hermione… five seconds and she'd changed her mind! Like one of Mum's bloody cakes. One loud noise, one distraction and - bang! - forget it. Girls are just like that, Harry."

Harry listened. It was a fairly abstract subject for him to be sure. 

"Anyways, I'm sorry. Maybe I should have… I dunno. But I - I couldn't." Ron sighed and turned away.

"Ron," Harry threw up his hands. "Just… well, you could have been a lot less of a bastard about it, but me and Severus… it has nothing to do with you."

"Really?" Ron was genuinely surprised.

Harry shrugged and nodded.

"Oh." Ron blinked. "You know, Harry, you were pretty great about me and Hermione. And the advice, and all that. I just… don't know what to say.

"Damn good advice too, by the way. Gave my sex life quite a boost."

"Half of it was from Severus," Harry pointed out. He let Ron take a moment to digest that. "He doesn't just know Potions." 

Ron choked. "Maybe he should teach a different class: Sex Ed."

Harry laughed. "He'd be good at it."

"Now _that_ I didn't want to know!" Ron looked appalled. "Promise me something, Harry - no details! I can handle it - I _think_ - but I just don't want to know!"

Harry agreed. He didn't think Severus would want his intimate moments shared with the Weasley's anyway. Though he was vaguely disappointed. He thought Ron would be one of the few people who would understand, at least after his experience with the Book of Eros.

"Just one thing though," Ron asked. "Do you really take it up the bunghole?"

Harry's jaw fell. "I thought you said no details! You're unbelievable!" 

"Well, just this one thing…" Ron shrugged.

"I'm not going to tell you that!" said Harry.

"I just can't picture him plugging your arse, that's all."

"For starters, it's often the other way around! Second - it's none of your bloody business!" Harry fumed at him.

"You? Giving it Snape up the arse?" Ron considered. "Oh, I like that thought much better. Carry on then."

"Do you want me to ask _you_ about _Hermione_?!" 

Ron leaned back proudly, folding his arms behind his head. "Ask me anything you like."

"I'm not interested." Harry sighed. "Dumbledore thinks I'm just attracted to Dark Magic, not Severus…"

"That's crap." Ron said definitively. Harry stared. Ron never criticised Dumbledore. "Well it is -! You hate Dark Magic. You were just in it for the sex."

"Wha - " Harry sputtered, "you're saying I'm easy?" 

"Hey, you said it, not me. Look, you panted after me for half the school year. Then who gets you into bed? Snape!" 

Harry sighed. "No one believes that I really like Severus."

"It's _weird_ to hear you call him that," Ron complained. "He's a Snape, Harry! Dark Wizards, the lot of them. Mean ones. Step on a toe and they'll pay you back, double, ten years from now. They're all like that, but he's more Snape-like than the rest."

"You forget jealous…"

"Is he jealous?" Ron asked.

"I'll be explaining this conversation for a week."

"That's 'cause you're easy and he knows - oh, hi Hermione!" Hermione wasn't there, of course. 

Infuriated, Harry dove for Ron, but with his distraction Ron had made a quick break for the door. It shut automatically between them. Harry struggled and threw the door open and spotted Ron halfway down the aisle. But Ron was never nearly as fast as Harry. Harry tore after him. Too late, they both saw the witch's cart trundle into their path out of a compartment, just as Harry tackled Ron's foot.

Chocolate frogs hopped down the aisles and escaped; Every-Flavor Beans were scattered like marbles every where; several canary creams fluttered out the nearest open window. And pumpkin juice dripped from the nose of a very, very irate witch, who was sprawled out on the floor of the train. 

Compartments slid open up and down the aisles and the heads of younger students popped out to stare at the two Seventh Years. Harry and Ron sat in the middle of a horrific mess, laughing. 

Harry gave the witch a hand up and offered to pay for the damage, but she brushed him off irritably. He did however, buy her last two surviving pumpkin juices. 

Back in their compartment, Harry opened his pumpkin juice and then calmly dumped it on Ron's head. If Ron thought he was going to get away with his comment he was quite mistaken. Ron licked sticky sweet pumpkin juice from the corner of his mouth. 

"Snape is starting to rub off on you." Then he cringed at the mental image. "Alright. I supposed I deserved that," Ron spluttered, "but never mind napkins, I hope Hermione brings a towel! Where is she anyway?"

Harry shrugged. Hermione was certainly giving them plenty of time.

After several minutes of drying off, Ron and Harry leaned back in their seats and sighed. The sun was going down, and they both felt a little cold and damp in the evening breeze. Ron looked thoughtful. Finally, he asked the question Harry had expected from the beginning.

"Harry… are you still -?" Ron began cautiously.

"Am I still in love with you?"

Ron breathed. "Yeah."

Harry bit his lip and phrased his answer very carefully. "I feel exactly the same as I ever have."

Ron could make of that what he liked. 

Ron was still looking out the window, thinking, when Hermione returned with a very inadequate number of napkins.

"Ron? What did you do?" Hermione exclaimed as she shut the door behind her.

"Harry did it!"

Hermione looked at Harry. "Did you tell him?" Harry nodded. "You should be the one wearing the pumpkin juice."

"You knew - ?" Ron gaped at Hermione.

"I give up. How many times did I tell you?" Hermione sighed, put down the napkins and pulled out her wand. She pointed it at Ron. "_Everriculum!_" 

The pumpkin juice was suddenly gone. Unfortunately, Ron's robes were also several shades lighter. And they looked somewhat - green?

"I'm sorry about that, but it's a very strong Spell," Hermione said, not sounding sorry at all.

"You know, Hermione, when you have kids that's gonna come in real handy," Harry observed.

"Well, it doesn't look I'll be baby-sitting yours anytime soon," Hermione said tartly. Ron rolled his eyes at the reminder. 

"Not unless Severus has some _big_ surprises this summer," Harry joked.

"There you go with the first name again. It's _weird_, Harry," Ron complained.

"I had the most fascinating conversation with Parvati in the first car," Hermione changed the subject. "Did you know she's going to be learning French over at Beauxbatons? She's hoping that if her French is good enough she will get a Ministry Consulate position in Paris. I'm so impressed that she has her career direction already picked out, I mean there's so many options it's hard to choose. Have you thought about your career, Ron?"

Ron groaned and buried his head in his arms. "Percy said I could work for him…"

Harry laughed. Working for Percy, well, that was prescription for Hell! "What? Does he need your head for rung in his ladder to the top?"

"And the worst thing is… I… I might have to." Ron would never be a burden on his family.

"Working for the Ministry is a very solid, stable career, Ron. It's nothing to sneeze at," Hermione said briskly. "What about you, Harry?"

"Yeah, Harry. My Dad says there's a Spell Cataloguing position available at the Ministry, if you like," Ron suggested. "It's kinda dull, I know. But having you there might make Percy bearable."

"Actually, I already have a job. For the summer in any case."

Ron stared. Hermione looked quite pleased and interested.

"Do tell," she said, glancing at Ron.

"I'll be at Snape Manor for the summer - doing some Reparo Spell-work," Harry added quickly, before they could think anything indecent. Not that some of their ideas wouldn't be true. But their reaction was not at all what Harry expected.

"Are you _mad_?" Ron was bug-eyed. "Snape Manor?! That place is a death trap!"

"Ron is right, Harry." Hermione nodded. "Repair it? That place ought to be condemned! And it very nearly is. There was a whole article about it this weekend in The Daily Prophet. The Ministry has been trying to condemn the place for years of course, but the Snapes are a very old and powerful Wizarding family, and it's been in their family for generations. People are afraid of them and all their Dark Magic. Professor Snape promised to curse the first person to set foot on that property within an inch of their lives. He was very specific in the interview: he said he'd start with the Calamitas Curse, add the Morbis Opisthotonos, then the Weeping Flebilus and after that he listed a whole bunch of Curses I'd never even heard of. But the article said none of the Snapes go there anymore. You see, Snape Manor is insane. It's been in mourning for two decades over the death of Professor Snape's grandfather, Eckard Snape." 

"A house? Grieving after its owner?" Harry asked.

"It's a Wizarding Mansion, Harry. An old one. Very Magical." Ron pointed out.

"Would The Burrow miss your family if you ever left?" Harry asked curiously.

"The Burrow would collapse if we ever left," Ron muttered. It sort of looked like it would, Harry considered.

"The article said that there's pressure now to have it completely destroyed - " Hermione continued.

"They can't do that! It's over nine-hundred years old! It's a Landmark!" Ron protested.

"They've filed for a Special Exception under the Hazardous Magical Entities Act," Hermione said. "It's expected to pass unanimously this summer. Turns out the Protection Charms broke down and some Muggle teen-agers got in there a few months back. It took a long time to find them. Teams of people and Auror had to be assigned. Of course the Snapes had it hushed up. But one of the Muggle kids is still at St. Mungo's, and none of the Memory Charms will work. Anyhow, a lot of people got a firsthand look at how bad the place is and they want it shut down for good."

"I thought regular people couldn't even see a Wizarding Mansion, or they would see at something ordinary or some such," Harry said, puzzled. 

"Everything's breaking down, Harry. The magic there has gone crazy. Worst thing is, Eckard Snape put in all kinds of Experimental Charms and Enchantments. Dark Magic, mostly. And there are whole rooms that are exploded, just… blasted to bits."

Harry smiled. Well, he knew who had done that. And with what Spell.

"Strange thing is, the Mansion… well, it doesn't like Professor Snape," Hermione said. Ron snorted. "It won't let him through the front door. Spits him out and sends him flying across the yard. They had a picture of that in the article. But _he's_ the one who is fighting to save the place. The rest of the family doesn't seem to care."

"I'm sure he was planning to tell me," Harry said, wincing. No wonder Severus had burned his copy of The Daily Prophet.

Ron gave Harry a doubtful look. 

"You may be fucking him, Harry, but he's still a Snape. Whatever he's offered to pay you," Ron said, "double it. And be sure to collect in advance. You know he would."

Hermione nodded. "I know you need a job, Harry, and you can't stay with the Dursleys past July, but… Cataloguing Spells at the Ministry does sound a lot safer." 

Cataloguing Spells. Suddenly Snape Manor sounded pretty good.

"He did say he was going teach me Advanced Dueling this summer," Harry pointed out.

"Yes, that's called 'Job Training' in this case," Ron retorted.

Harry was beginning to feel that he had been conned. He was already composing a letter to Severus in his mind, to be sent at the first opportunity. Ron spoke up.

"Anyways… when are you gonna open it?"

"Open what?"

"The box. I didn't know where it was from before, but now I - I suppose it's a gift from your loving Snape. It appeared right when we pulled out of Hogwarts. Here - "

" - sorry. I thought you saw it." Ron handed Harry a small box. "I think that's real silver. Maybe you should triple his offer. No - _quadruple_ it."

It was a small box, wrapped in textured black satin. The delicate silver ribbon waved attractively in the air. Harry untied it and handed the ribbon to Ron. Ron let the silver coil and uncoil about his hand fascinated. 

In the fluffy white tissue paper, blinking up at Harry was a tiny glass unicorn. Just like the one Harry had destroyed with the Nova Incendiero Spell, Harry realised with sudden understanding. There was note written in a firm graceful hand:

'Dear Harry,

Try not to break this one.

Severus' 

Finis. 

Okay guys, this is it. The last chapter. Though I have clearly left it open for a sequel, I do not make any promises as this un-beta'd fic has a lot of polishing to be done. I must say I am astounded by the response I've had, and grateful. I expected no reviews at all. I planned to just warehouse the story while I quietly updated it with the beta'd version. My notes to all of you can be found at the end of this.

This was originally only going to be one story: 'The Book of Eros.' But as I explained how Ron and Harry got hold of the book, and why, the rest grew up around it.

The updated version of Primer to the Dark Arts will likely have two new chapters: one missing scene with Ron and Harry and The Book of Eros at Hagrid's. 'Lair of the Snape' will be divided into two chapters, the new one to be called 'Midnight' with some slight changes to both. Throughout there will be more visual description added, especially in the earlier chapters, which I wrote before I realised this was going to be _a book_. 'Defence Against the Dark Arts' (currently chapter 20) will change drastically. I may also be forced to write a detailed chapter on Snape's point-thievery, and the resulting final Quidditch match with its dramatic conclusion of feeding the Slytherin banners to the Whomping Willow. As they always say, don't tell - show. If I do it, that would fall into place just before 'Pure Blood.'

I am interested in the relationship between Severus and the brutal but pleasant Torvald, and may explore that. I did do a story called 'Your Friendly Neighborhood Death Eater.' Torvald is suitably charming.

A few special thank yous for my reviewers, especially those who have been reviewing from the beginning:

Telanu - I am blown away that you liked my story. I normally read stories of those who review mine, but I've already read all yours. I can't wait for the chapter that follows 'Corresponding.' 

Moira McDuff - You have been very encouraging. The extra Ron/Harry/The Book scene at Hagrid's, when it's up, I wrote especially for you. ;) I look forward to the next installment of 'Incubus.' My insurance company will contact yours with the hospital bill for my whiplash resulting from your plot-line change. LOL

aniwda - Thank you for your intelligent criticism. It has been very helpful and appreciated. I have taken your suggestions to heart, and the changes will appear in the updated versions of this story. You are not the only one who pointed out the too-short chapters and overly speedy pacing. The splitting of the 'Lair of the Snape' into two chapters came directly as a result of your suggestion.

switchknife - I am not worthy of your praise, your writing is lush and brilliant. Everyone should read your 'If Thine Enemy.' I've yet to see Lucius portrayed so deliciously as you have. The contrast between young Harry's natural innocence and Lucius' cunning sophistication is… darkly pleasing. Good work. Snape/Lucius anyone? Oooo. I'm wondering if you should be the one to write Torvald/Snape after all, eh? ;)

Morrighan - If my Snape is both in character and yet still has his humanity, it is because my writing of him is informed by your brilliant and insightful 'The Long Road to Damascus.' Save his love life was a tad different. Ahem. Everyone: Read her fiction!

Darklady - Start signing your reviews. I _read_ the stories of my reviewers. But if you are the same _Darklady_ who wrote the s*x toys series, thank you. To be called creative by someone as original as you is high praise indeed. Everyone, the 's*x toys' series is a stitch.

Twixyer - Keep writing kiddo, and contact me when you need more beta-reading. On one condition of course: you had best put my spelling corrections in your final version. (amused smirk) I always appreciate a writer who zeros in on the editorial suggestions first, but don't forget the little stuff!

gwendolyn_flight - I can't tell you how much it helps me when reviewers ask questions. I made a point of explaining more about the Wizard's Silver and just what that spell did in 'Morning Breath' and 'Overdue Books,' because you asked. 

Lady Sita - Like Rowling wrote it herself?? (Jaw drops in astonishment.)

J. Lynn - The fact that this story has been the highlight of your day brought a smile to my face, and I thought of that as I updated almost daily. Perhaps I should do some smaller short fics, as a kind of Methadone program to those who have grown habituated? ;)

me3gogi - I liked the satin, too! (grins) That is one of my favorite, most enjoyable chapters.

Akasha - I wish I had a special award to give for 'most insightful review.' You brought out things in the story that were there, but I hadn't really examined myself. Your perspective added a great deal to the rest of the story, and I appreciate it. Review my stories, often, and any time you like! I apologise for leaving the Snape/Harry break-up hanging for as long as I did. That portion I wrote before half the earlier part.

Lee Lee Potter - Good observation that Snape is different when they are alone. You are quite correct. He is. It comes from his being such a private and solitary person. I hope that I can continue to write him so.

Lady of Arundel - Heh. "Here comes Minerva, defender of Gryffindor, right on schedule - too late for your virginity I fear" is one of my favorite lines. When it popped into my mind, I thought, oh no, he can't say that, can he? Oh, but he would, wouldn't he… Lascivious bastard. ;)

Hermione Gulliver - I've kept your question in mind about Ron will do when he finds out for this chapter. This chapter (and 'Overdue Books') I wrote with your question in mind. It is not what you expect. Read on.

Deity - I guess your question 'is this going to end up in some yummy Harry/Snape snogging' has been answered, hasn't it? I threw in a little extra snuggling at the end, in 'Morning Breath' just because I knew you'd love it. And I wanted some, too. 'Pure Blood' was a heart-pounder and we all needed to relax and unwind a bit.

Ghost-Writer - I actually had an 'R' and an 'NC-17' version in mind. But this grew to be so enormous, I'm not sure I'll ever have the time to do the hotter version of it. You are right, there is plenty of opportunity for such diversions.

Well, in the last two-three weeks since I started this story there have been over a hundred reviews, so if I have forgotten any of you, I apologise. But I have read, and savoured, every one of your comments.


	28. Story Notes: Dumbledore on 'PureBlood' W...

Views on the History of 'Pure-blood Wizards'

by Albus Dumbledore 

There are two different definitions of 'pure-blood wizards': the popular social definition, and the esoteric, magical definition. The magical definition of 'pure-blood wizards' of course, predates the popular definition by several centuries.

The concept of 'pureblood' originated with blood-based magic. Certain types of magic, particularly in the Dark Arts, require the use of human blood. Those texts are quite clear that the blood used in these ceremonies be 'pureblood.' It isn't entirely certain that this specifically refers to pure-blood wizards(as opposed to half-human races), or if those participating in the ritual must be pure of intent, or even if it means one must have a familial or 'blood' connection. However, few have attempted to test the current definition - that the blood spilled must be of wizarding descent on both collateral lines - given the likely consequences if they are wrong. 

The popular social definition of 'pureblood' began in the 'Dark Times,' (known to Muggles as the Middle Ages). In the 'Dark Times,' when wizards and witches were hunted assiduously by Muggles, the magical aristocracy understandably seized on these spells as proof of their superiority over other species, over 'half-blood' wizards, and especially, of their superiority over the very Muggles who were hunting them like animals. They proudly traced their lineages back many generations, believing that a 'purer' lineage resulted in purer, more powerful wizards. The fact this has never been proved - indeed it has been disproved often - has done nothing to dispel this popular myth. 

Thus, the social definition of 'pureblood' is firmly entrenched with most wizards to mean one who can trace back his ancestry through many generations of wizards on both sides of the family, although there are squabbles over exactly how many generations this must be. In a remarkable coincidence, wizarding families who claim to be 'pureblood' tend to adopt the definition that requires the exact number of generations as their own family, or slightly fewer.

The true (or at least current) magical definition of 'pure-blood' wizard, on the other hand, requires only that both parents of said 'pure-blood wizard' be either a wizard or a witch (and not half-human or Muggle). 

One must note that for all the fuss over the subject, spells that specifically require the blood of pure-blood wizards are quite rare, although naturally the pure-blood aristocracy claim that any spell requiring any blood is best done with pure wizarding blood. The fact that many of those rare blood-magic spells require the death of the wizard or witch casting them, or the death of the pure-blood wizard themselves, or a fundamental alchemy within the pure-blood wizards participating, thus making them more or less an _ingredient_ and not exalted at all, tends to be ignored…. 

Albus Dumbledore 

__

Excerpt from 'Ramblings on Various Historical Facts of Interest to Me, If No One Else' (currently sold out). 


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